The Value Of Legacy
by RoyalPsycho
Summary: The Fury Road left the former Triumvirate in chaos. In the Citadel, the people celebrated the death of Immortan Joe and the rise of Imperator Furiosa. In Gastown, however, the People Eater's death elicited a different reaction. This is the story of Jost the Splint, the People Eater's son and heir and his rise to power in the aftermath of the Fury Road war.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Taking Stock:**

In the ruined sandflats of the Southern Wasteland there were few places more valuable than the industrial nightmare that was Gastown. Situated on a lake of precious and irreplaceable guzzoline, the lifeblood of the world, Gastown was one of the three points in the infamous Triumvirate. For years beyond count, the immense oil refinery had fuelled the empire of Immortan Joe, the warlord of the Wasteland, Guardian of the Citadel, he who grabbed the sun.

Surrounded by a wide moat of oil and fallout poisoned water, Gastown was a city of constant movement and fire, a hellish vision that squatted on the valley floor, coated in black smog and soot. A long and almost stately suspension bridge led the way into the fortified refinery, stopping at the vast reinforced gates. Great towers housed the pumps that pulled the rich crude from the earth to be processed deep within the city's bowels. The industrial edifice reached high into the sky, clawing it at it and belching out black clouds of foul smoke. Great tongues of flame spurted from the top of the refineries, signaling to all who approached that Gastown had the guzzoline and would give it to noone who would not pay their prices.

At the centre of Gastown was a larger tower topped by a thick, tiered spire. Here was the Main Office, the domain of the People Eater, Guardian of Gastown, Reckoner and Human Calculator. Here he made his home and allowed only those he needed to appease or those who caught his favour.

Deep inside the upper levels of the spire was a richly furnished office. Though worn by age and battered by the hostile environments of the Wasteland, the rug that lay on the floor, the clock that hung above the door and the varnished desk that dominated the centre of the room were treasures that only the wealthiest and most powerful warlords could acquire. The walls were lined by shelves that creaked with the weight of heavy ledgers. They were the People Eater's records, his accounts of his wealth and many transactions.

Sat in the left-hand of corner of the room by the door, hunched over a smaller and far less extravagant desk, was a young man in his early twenties. He was average height with wavy dark brown hair and the barest hint of a belly visible through his clothes. His left arm was held closely against his chest with a brace covering it. His smooth, largely unworn skin and the tattered business suit he wore was a sign of his status. He was Jost the Splint, the People Eater's son and heir to Gastown.

"So we sold a thousand units to the Scrappers last week which means they owe us…" Jost muttered to himself as he surveyed the newest and cleanest of the ledgers trying to add everything up, "a hundred...no two hundred kilos of good steel". He tried to count the rounded out numbers on his fingers, going over them in his head as he did so but the figures all blurred into one another. With a groan he gave up, the invisible numbers disappearing as he slammed his fist on the desk and ran his left hand through his hair.

The previous day Gastown had emptied itself of most of its warriors, answering the desperate call of Immortan Joe. The People Eater himself had lead the Gastown War Party and even taken the Stretch Rig with him. Having been ordered to stay behind, Jost had busied himself with keeping account of Gastown's production. The People Eater had been going over the numbers before Joe had called him and he had demanded Jost prove his worth by doing it while he was away.

"Oi Jost," a thick voice echoed through the room. Jost looked up from the ledger to see a full-life man walk in through the wide double-doors that led into the People Eater's office. He was a goon, one of Gastown's warriors, dressed in a black vest with a black hood and goggles covering the top half of his face.

"Huh?" Jost replied, his numb brain revving up again at the other man's words.

"War party's back," the goon replied in a nervous voice, "looks like they've taken a banging. The Stretch's gone."

Jost eyes widened. If their war rig had been destroyed then that meant the battle must have gone really badly. In fact, it likely meant the People Eater was dead as well.

"Where are they?" he asked, keeping his voice and face level.

"Approaching the gate," the goon replied. "Spotters saw them coming about ten minutes ago."

"Right," Jost said, getting up from the desk. "Get the Wretched away from the gates. I don't want them to see this and get every goon we've got armed."

"Right boss," the goon said in a hurry and ran out of the office.

Running his left hand through his hair again he straightened himself up, smoothing his hair in the slightly smudged mirror that was hung on one of the walls and tidying his suit as much as possible, trying to obscure the frayed lining and patchwork by folding over them. Taking a deep breath he strode out of the office.

Outside of the office the entire tower was coloured the gritty grey of old steel. When it came to anything beside his own personal quarters and vehicles, the People Eater prized utilitarianism and low costs above all else.

As he walked through the corridors he watched the workers as they carried goods and machinery parts back and forth. Tensions were beginning to run high due to the lost shipment of food and water from the Citadel and the rations could only last so long. If things were really as bad as he feared then he would have to think of something quickly. The Wretched could go without water for a while still but the workers, the mechanics, the goons and himself of course, that was something else.

He knew his way around Gastown by memory, having grown up within its boundaries. The maze of corridors had been built to confuse any invaders or infiltrators but to Jost it was easy to navigate, every small marking, smear or indent serving as a map. There were few real windows in the Main Office, mostly to keep attackers from gaining some kind of entry point but those that were offered a glimpse to the town outside. Despite being rebuilt to twist and turn, the hallways and corridors were still wide enough to allow the vast bulk of the People Eater to move through.

The moment he made it down to the garages on the Main Office's ground floor, he looked for an appropriate vehicle.

Gastown's backup rig, a far less extravagant and far more ugly vehicle than the Stretch Rig, was still being refitted. He had spent most of the previous day organising the hunt for the parts necessary to fix it. The engine had blown out completely after the previous driver had overtaxed the machine and burnt it out. Finding the replacement parts had cost Jost a lot of time and effort and even after a full day of work the machine was only just being coaxed back to life.

Working his way through the collection of vehicles, piles of equipment and swarms of mechanics, Jost made his way to a car. The machine was a converted 1970 Chevalle that had a V8 engine installed into the body but was otherwise left intact. He didn't know how his father had acquired it but it was the vehicle he rode in when touring the streets of Gastown. It was kept cleaned and maintained so that, unlike the rest of the armada, it remained as shiny as the day it had come out of the factory.

As Jost approached he saw several young mechanics, barely more than sprogs, scuttle around the body, cleaning and shining the body and windows. Jost saw the bonnet had been raised, a mechanic having dove into the car's innards to perform some kind of maintenance or improvement.

"I'm taking this one out," Jost shouted over the din of the garage.

"Y'what?" one of the mechanics shouted as he raised his head, "what do you mean you're takin…" His voice cut off as he saw Jost, with several tall goons standing behind him, glower down in response. "Uh, sorry boss. Right y'are. I'll just fix 'er up and 'and her over to ya."

Jost's glower didn't disappear as he watched the wiry, oil stained man, tinker with the engine a little bit more and then slam the bonnet back down.

"Right she's good to go," the mechanic said to Jost confidently before turning back to see several of the sprogs still rubbing at the side-mirrors with cloths. "Ge' off," he shouted at them and the small boys scattered. The mechanic then backed away as one of the goons slid into the driver's seat. Jost opened the door to the back and sat himself down in one of the frayed but still comfortable seats.

"Go," Jost said with a frown and the car roared into life, the cylinders of the engine spinning rapidly. The driver had the car rev several times, almost ritualistically, before he slowly and sedately led the machine through the garage and out into the open.

Jost squinted his eyes as the bright light of day assaulted him. Blinking a few times, he quickly adjusted to the intensity of the Wasteland sun and looked upon Gastown.

The moment the car made it out of the garage it was surrounded by the scurrying crowds of workers and Wretched. They moved back and forth between the towers, scrambling onto machinery in order to fix leaks, clean up spilt crude and guzzoline and pick up whatever scraps were lying around so that they could be bartered for something else.

The crowds immediately parted at the sight of the Chevalle. As they made way for him, Jost kept an indifferent look on his face. He needed to convey his superiority to the lower orders of the hierarchy and therefore sat straighter, making sure he didn't show any especial interest towards any of the people who nervously glanced at his window.

It took twenty minutes for his car to finally make it through the twisting paths of Gastown to the main gate.

The gateway was a massive cage of steel girders and bars, providing plenty of spaces for polecats to climb on and drop explosives on any attackers. The gate itself was barred by huge steel doors connected to immense gears and rotors needed to move the massive doors.

Ordering the car to stop, Jost stepped out. He saw one of the goons nervously manning the cage.

"Oi," Jost shouted up, catching the goons attention, "are they outside yet?"

"Yeah boss," the goon replied, "waitin for the okay."

Jost bit his bottom lip. If the gates were still shut that meant the People Eater wasn't able to give the order himself.

"Alright," Jost said a moment later, "let them in."

"Open 'er up," the goon shouted.

A whip cracked and drums began to beat as several dozen Wretched that manned the treadmills attached to the gate began to slowly work the gears. Moving to the beat of the drums, the Wretched workers began to open the thick metal gates.

Slowly but steadily the doors swung open. On the other side was a motley and dust coated collection of vehicles. The other day a mighty and proud armada had set out from Gastown, led by the Stretch Rig, a mobile refinery and the flagship of Gastown's fleet. Now only several battered cars and trucks alongside a few polecat vehicles made it through the gates. The faces of every goon were dejected and forlorn. It was obvious they had been defeated and suffered terribly for it.

Jost struggled to make sure his shock wasn't obvious to those around him. Gastown had suffered losses before but never on this scale.

"What happened?" he shouted at the nearest vehicle, a dirt caked polecat truck. A goon jumped off and walked up to him.

"We got 'ammered," he said quickly, "I don't know how it 'appened but they just kept blowing us apart. We lost the Stretch before we even got back to the canyon. Then they blocked it when they flipped their rig." The goon paused for a moment, as if trying to to figure out how to word his next sentence. "The People Eater's dead," he finally said nervously, "so's Immortan Joe and the Bullet Farmer. They stuck us in the pass and took the Gigahorse. We were set on by the Rock Riders after that," he seemed to straighten up for a moment, "we got 'em good though and got out after we cleared the block."

"How the hell did one imperator and a bunch of breeders manage to cause all of this?" Jost said angrily, sweeping his arm over the sad collection of vehicles.

"I don't know," the goon replied, shrugging his shoulders, "they seemed to pick up a few other people and just kept gunnin' us down."

Jost ran his left hand over his face in exasperation as his mind began to try to figure out some kind of response to everything. "Right," he quickly said, "get everything back to the garage, fix it up. I'm going to have a new plan in the morning."

"Right boss," the goon said as Jost turned back to the Chevalle. The words made Jost pause. Boss. He'd been called boss before but now, with the People Eater gone, the word meant something far more heavy.

He sat down in the Chevalle with a sigh. "Take me back to the Office," he said to the goon driving and tilted his head back in thought as he felt the car come to life again. The People Eater was dead. He was in charge now. The boss wasn't there to take over most of the work of running Gastown. He would be responsible for accounting for everything. He had to be the Human Calculator. Immortan Joe was dead as well, so was the Bullet Farmer. In a single day everything about the Wasteland had changed. Who was in charge now? Were all of the old deals still in place? Everyone needed guzzoline but were the prices going to stick or would he have to hash something new out with leaders he didn't know.

Jost sighed again, his many self-taught lessons in hiding his thoughts helping him calm down. He would wait until he was back in the office then maybe he and Daisy could work something out.

* * *

Jost the Splint's personal quarters were not as nicely furnished as the People Eater's but by the standards of the Wasteland they were luxurious. Sturdy desks and chairs had been brought in to furnish the room, requiring only a little patching and replacement parts to be serviceable. A large four-poster bed - a salvage taken from a crashed delivery van years ago for the People Eater but then abandoned for a nicer model - had even been installed.

Shelves of books lined the wall but unlike the People Eater's office these were filled with a variety of texts that detailed many different topics. From the history of the Before Time to detailed manuals on engineering and even stories of fantasy and fairytale worlds that few, if any, now knew about, the room was a library the likes of which couldn't be found anywhere but the Citadel.

Sitting at one of the desks, reading a book on medicine and childbirth with a look of intense contemplation, was a young woman. She was dressed in a somewhat frayed black dress with lace underlining that had been stained yellow by age and the dirt of the Wasteland. Her face was narrow and sharp with a hooked nose that wrinkled occasionally as she ran her eyes over the pages and her long black hair was tied back in a ponytail.

As she was about to turn another page, she heard the door open. "Daisy," Jost said as he walked into the room, pulling the woman's attention away from the book.

Daisy, known throughout Gastown as The Wither, put down her book and sat back in her seat as she looked at her husband.

"What is it?" she asked cautiously as she saw the frown on Jost's face.

"The war party got back," Jost replied. Daisy frowned at the news in return. "They got battered," he continued, not looking at her as he spoke, "the boss is dead."

Daisy's eyes widened at the news, she had loathed the People Eater more than anyone, not even Jost could match the sheer bile she felt towards the bloated smeg. "That… that mean's you're in charge."

"Yeah," Jost said, turning to look at her, "We're in charge now," Daisy took note of how he started the sentence. "Most of the enforcers died with him too, only Mcintosh is still around so we're safe. I couldn't have asked for more but I wish the bastard hadn't decided to take most of our war fleet and thousands of gallons of prime guzzoline with him when he finally kicked it." Jost threw himself into one of the chairs, ignoring the creaks it made in protest. "And he lost the Stretch too," Jost suddenly added in an annoyed tone, "I really wanted that one."

"The back-ups running again though isn't it?" Daisy interjected, trying to steer the conversation to something productive, "We'll need to see what we can salvage, as soon as possible."

"That's all tomorrow," Jost replied, "for now we need to get what's left of the war party repaired. Then I'm going to lead them out to pick up whatever we can. Most of our losses were on the other side of Rock Rider territory but from what I've heard the Riders have lost most of their bikers thanks to this war. Then we've got to arrange things with whoever's in charge of the Citadel."

"Wait," Daisy then interrupted, "whoever's in charge? What happened to the Immortan?"

"Didn't I say?" Jost replied quickly, "Immortan Joe's dead. Apparently Imperator Furiosa betrayed and carved him. His wives took the Gigahorse and ran for the Citadel after they blocked part of the mountain pass."

"And they killed the People Eater as well?" Daisy asked, barely believing what she was hearing, "How'd they manage to do that?" Daisy couldn't picture any of the wives having the guts to do what she had just heard. The few times she had seen them they were cowed and depressing.

"They took out the Bullet Farmer too, and a good chunk of everyone's war parties. Oh apparently there were Buzzards too but they went down easy." Jost said, continuing his explanation, relaying everything in the same disbelieving tone. Daisy couldn't blame him. The whole thing sounded too ridiculous to be true. The tales of Immortan Joe dying and returning as a living god were easier to believe.

"Salvage first, deals later," Daisy said to him, counting off the planned events on her fingers. If what her husband had said was true they didn't have time to waste.

"Sounds good to me," Jost replied. He then got up and walked over to a series of screens. The wood and canvas stalls served as a privacy curtain for the impromptu dresser Jost and Daisy had set up in another room. She could already see him peel off his jacket and begin to work on his buttons. "I'm calling it a night," he shouted over to her, "the day's been going too long for me."

"I'll join you," she shouted back, getting up and making her way over to the dresser.

Jost stepped out shortly afterwards clad in loose tan clothes. Nightclothes like his were rare and few people, even the People Eater, bothered with trying to find or make any. Jost however, at Daisy's insistence, had worked hard at haggling the Scrappers into acquiring enough cloth to make some. Daisy stepped into the screens and undressed as well, grabbing her own nightclothes.

Daisy watched Jost walk over to the bed and throw himself down on it with a sigh. As she in turn disrobed, she watched as he whispered to himself. He was trying to run over the numbers in his head again.

"We're gonna need to talk with the Citadel soon," Jost then said.

"Sorry?" Daisy said, raising her head to meet his eyes.

"We're going to be running low on good water soon." Jost explained, "I haven't seen the tanks lately but I do know that are last supply run was supposed to be before yesterday and now the Immortan's dead and his war rig's been left turned over in the mountains with the shipment." Jost punctuated his sentence by waving his hands and fingers in ways that she assumed were supposed to symbolise the loss of the rig.

"Well then," Daisy began, pausing to lift her gauzy, cream nightdress over her head and pull it back down, "we'd better get on that. I'd still wait to see what we can recover first." She then pulled the string keeping her hair tied back loose and let it all fall down to her shoulders.

"Yeah," Jost agreed, "you never know whether we'll need more horsepower behind us if they don't like what we have to offer."

"Why wouldn't they like what we have to offer?" Daisy asked as she stepped out from behind the screen, brushing her hair behind her shoulders and smoothing it a little, "Where else are they going to get guzzoline. The Scrappers? They only deal with us and none of the other wanderers have much fuel on them." She stepped up to the desk, picking up her book which had been left neglected since the conversation began and put it back in an empty space on one of the shelves.

"I don't know," Jost replied, waving his hand dismissively, "I couldn't tell you what Furiosa thinks like. I'm not going to trust the mind of a woman who declared war on the entire Triumvirate… and won."

Daisy finally walked over to the bed and sat down on it. "Well even if she's madder than a chromed up War Boy she can't be stupid enough to try to cut herself off from us." She turned to Jost with a small smile on her face and brushed a loose lock of hair from his brow. "Still that isn't the issue right now. Come on, the People Eater's finally dead. I'm pretty sure the only complaint either of us could have right now is that we weren't there to see it."

"Or slit the bastard ourselves," Jost added jokingly.

"Oh what I'd have given to carve him open," Daisy laughed. "Imagine the look on his fat face?"

Jost began to laugh as well as he tried to picture his father's possible reaction to Daisy holding a knife to him and cutting him up. It took another minute for his laughter to slowly wind down.

"Well," he finally said with a sigh, "that's not gonna happen anymore. He's gone now and it looks like we're going to be in charge from now on. We've got a lot to do."

"Yeah," Daisy said as she settled down onto the mattress, "we."

* * *

The Dag looked out over the Citadel, her head resting on her hands. She was leaning on Immortan Joe's podium, the controls to the water pipes only a few centimetres to her right. she could still see the water gushing down onto the ground at the base of the mesa. Already a small pool was forming, a new feature for the Citadel that had never been seen before. The glint and shine of the water mesmerized her, the way it mixed with the dust and mud forming colours and shapes that those who swam in it disturbed.

Ever since the lift had carried her, her sisters, Furiosa and the Wretched up into the newly liberated Citadel, things had immediately looked better.

Still not all was well for her. The remains of the war party had finally returned from the mountains barely an hour ago. They had all witnessed the Immortan's death and all seemed somewhat different because of it. They appeared to be quieter, less energetic, almost as if they were mourning Joe's death. Dag had been against letting them back into the Citadel but Furiosa had overruled her and so she had been forced to watch the War Boys dejectedly file back into the garages. Still she and her sisters controlled the Citadel now. The Wretched were numerous and on their side, the War Boys didn't seem to want to put up a fight and Corpus Collosus, Joe's last, deformed son, had surrendered to them shortly after the ramps had brought them and many Wretched up to the garages.

Lifting herself slightly, the Dag brought one of her hands down to caress her stomach. The sprog growing inside of her was another problem. Whether it was a boy or a girl, the child was one of Joe's and the mere thought of having anything of his inside her body was disgusting. She had never seriously entertained the thought of trying to kill it before it could be born but the memories of Angharad's attempts to kill her unborn sprog still came back to her.

[i]"It could always be a girl."[/i] The voice of the Vuvalini woman echoed in her mind. Despite the old woman's attempts to soothe her with those words that night she hadn't really cared. Boy or girl, the sprog was Joe's. Evil like that didn't care what sex it was, it was still going to be ugly and cruel. Who was to say that a daughter of Joe wouldn't grow up to be every bit as terrible and vile as the Immortan had been.

"Scuse me," a withering voice brought the Dag out of her morbid thoughts. She turned to see a thin old man, his head and body shaven and weathered, standing across from her near the door to the milking room. In his left hand was a stick covered in scraps of what she assumed was paper. However what stood out about him the most was that his entire body was covered in words tattooed into his skin. The sight of the writing brought back memories of Miss Giddy.

"Yeah," Dag replied warily with a scowl.

"I was wondering where the Vault might be," he said, his voice getting clearer as he spoke, "I'm hoping to see the Imperator."

"Why'd you want to talk to her?" she shot back, suspicious of him.

"I'm looking to make a proposition," he said cheerfully, ignoring her defensive tone and body language. "I want to teach people." He finished his statement with a wide smile.

"Are you a Historyman?" She asked, remembering the term that Miss Giddy had used to describe herself when she explained the writing on her body.

"Why yes I am," he said with a hint of pride, straightening himself slightly, "I make sense of the many wordburgers this Wasteland has left us with. Every word on my body is a page in an invisible book." He emphasised his point by pointing to one of the lines of text on his chest.

The Dag mulled over his words as he spoke. She didn't particularly trust men since nearly every one that she knew had made her suffer. However everything he said seemed sincere, though he now spoke in a somewhat joking manner, and he was so old and frail that she couldn't imagine what exactly he could try to do to them.

"Alright," she finally said, "the Vault's down the hall to the left, past the gardens. It's a big round metal door. It should be wide open if you follow the crowds."

"Thank you," the man said, "I am Mr Gill by the way. If I'm lucky you'll be seeing more of me. I hope I can help you all in running this place." Holding his stick close to him, he set off down the paths the Dag had pointed him.

Alone again, she tried to sort out her thoughts again. It all seemed so strange now that everyone was following her orders. Before no-one had listened when she spoke to them, they had all passed her in the Wasteland, occasionally throwing scraps her way. Now however so many people looked to her for help and guidance. Already she and her sisters, for that was what they were now and always had been, had all immediately set off to find some work.

Cheedo, despite some early hesitance, had begun to help the Wretched find places in the Citadel and open up Joe's private stores to them. Capable was trying to see if she could do to the War Boys what she had done to Nux, talking to the calmer and less sullen of their group though she herself seemed to be in a similar mournful mood. Toast had barely left Furiosa's side as she helped organise everything. The darker skinned woman had always had a better head for numbers than the rest of them and she was now trying to make lists of everything.

She, on the other hand, she had emptied a part of the gardens and immediately planted the seeds she had been given, harassing Corpus Collosus for details on how the gardens worked. The Keeper of the Seeds had entrusted her with her collection and she had sworn to do whatever it would to nurture the seedlings that would now grow from them.

A loud rumble echoed through the sky, distracting the Dag from her thoughts. She looked out, over the Citadel and out into the dark, starry sky. There was a large dark blot on the horizon, broken only by the occasional flash of lightning. It was a storm, not unlike the massive one that Furiosa had taken them through a few days ago. She and her sisters had seen plenty of them from the safety of the Dome, protected by the thick walls and windows that Joe had built to lock them in.

This particular storm seemed to be close and every minute brought it closer. The Dag couldn't remember the last time the Citadel had actually been hit by a storm but it seemed that one was well on its way to striking them.

It was probably best she tell someone.

* * *

That night the Citadel was struck by an immense sandstorm. The water that had been flowing down from above for hours was stopped as Furiosa commanded the pipes be covered so that they would not be damaged or clogged by the sand and dirt. The cranes and other delicate machinery were tied down and secured and the outside gardens were carefully covered to protect them.

Those Wretched unable to find a place to sleep in the Citadel hunkered down in the holes they and their kind had always hidden within.

As the wind and sand whipped between the mesas, the people cowered. The storm roared, tearing at the Citadel, threatening to rip anyone who wasn't sheltered into the air.

No-one was able to sleep that night, huddling deep within their holes and sequestered in the citadels rooms and corridors whilst the storm spent its fury on the thick stone walls of the mesas. As the winds struck the Citadel everyone swore they could hear the loud and angry roar of Immortan Joe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Salvage And Talks:**

"How's it look?" Jost shouted at several of his men as they scrambled over the wreckage of the Citadel War Rig. He had woken earlier that morning and immediately ordered a salvage team be organised to recover as much of the war party's wreckage as possible.

"Wheels are still good," a mechanic shouted back, "engine one's shot though and engine two's been ripped out. The tanker should be fine though if we can get 'er rightside up again."

"Leave it for now," Jost ordered. "If we don't find anything else good we'll come back for it. It's not like anyone else can shift it."

"Right boss," the mechanic shouted back, "Come on," he then shouted to the other salvagers around him, "Looks like we're moving again."

The team immediately abandoned the wreckage of the War Rig and quickly made their way back to the cars. Jost had ordered the backup rig be sent out in order to haul as much scrap and wreckage as possible, a salvage trailer hitched to it. Accompanying the rig were five trucks, a tow truck and three flamers, heavily armed goons manning every one of them. Not particularly useful to the operation, the polecats had been left behind.

Jost settled back down in the rig's seat and ordered the driver to get moving again. The rig passed through the canyon, finding few remains save for the wreckage of Rictus' truck. The huge wheeled monstrosity had already been stripped of fuel canisters and useful parts by local scavengers, presumably the remains of the Rock Riders.

It was only when the convoy passed through the mountains and entered the plain on the other side that more wrecks began to appear. The convoy passed many ruined cars until Jost finally spotted something.

"Stop," he said to the driver, "stop. I think we've found it." He then turned to a goon seated in the back of the cabin. "Give the signal to stop," he ordered. The rig came to a halt as the driver braked and flipped the kill switches attached underneath the dashboard. The goon, meanwhile, clambered through the roof hatch and began to shout at the other cars.

Jost, pulled the lid of the roof back and clambered on top of the cabin as he looked at the pile of burnt machinery in front of him. his convoy had set themselves around the rig, their weapons pointed outwards.

"Boss," the mechanic called out to him from one of the trucks, "what've we got."

Jost looked over the wreckage, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun. It was a ruined tanker, ruptured and burst by what had likely been a violent explosion. However in front of it was a damaged rig. It had been flipped on its side, the engines and bottom of the vehicle ravaged by an explosion. However the top of the cabin was what interested him. It was topped by the chassis of a very familiar Limousine that had also been slightly burnt and scratched by the desert sands of the Wasteland.

"It's the Stretch," Jost said.

The mechanics immediately leapt from their vehicles and ran to the upturned rig. They clambered over it whilst the head Blackthumb, a tall dark-skinned man wrapped in cloth and leather straps with grease stained fingers, scanned over the sootstained underside.

"What have we got?" Jost shouted to the mechanic, "Anything worth saving?"

"No engines," the Blackthumb yelled back, "chassis' good and two of the axles are still load-bearable but this thing won't be moving by itself anytime soon."

"Do we stash it on the rig or can it be towed?" Jost then asked.

"Towable," the Blackthumb answered before turning back to inspect the wreckage, "yeah, definitely towable."

"Good," Jost replied. He then turned to others in the convoy. "Unhook the trailer and bring out the front wheels. We'll hook her up to one of the tows and pick up the Citadel's rig. It'll be slow going though. I want everyone with eyes on at all times."

The moment he was done shouting every available body in the convoy began to move. It was hard work but the goons and mechanics were skilled at what they did. The salvage trailer was detached from the rig and tyres were taken off of it. Gastown's salvage trailer was specially designed with a spare axle at the front. With it the trailer could be chained to a tow truck without worrying about balancing issues.

The trailer was hooked up to one of the tow trucks while another had the Stretch, which had been righted, chained to it.

"Alright, we're heading back," Jost shouted the moment he saw everything was secure. The mechanics jumped onto the nearest vehicles as the cars all started revving up. Both tow trucks stalled for a moment as they strained against the weight of their hauls before they too set off.

The journey back to the canyon was slow, the convoy weighed down by their salvage. The flamers were at the front, the other cars fanned out to encircle the rig and the tow trucks. Jost furrowed his brow as the mountains grew closer. When they got to the pass they would have to move in single file, leaving the rig and trucks vulnerable.

"We got somethin'," one of his men suddenly shouted.

"What is it?" he shouted out of the window to one of the goons, pulling back the lid on the roof and lifting himself through it.

"Up north," the goon replied, pointing into the distance, "we got movement. Looks human".

Jost held his hand down into the cabin, gesturing for the binoculars that were tied to the dashboard. The driver handed them to him and Jost lifted them to his eyes.

Peering into the distance, Jost saw a dust trail. Focusing on it, he saw what looked like a man on a motorcycle. He was dressed in ragged clothing, a leather jacket the most noticeable feature of his outfit. His bike was covered in canisters, likely fuel and water. He was moving back east in the direction of the bog.

"Looks like a road warrior," Jost said, "he's alone but I don't want to be out here at night. He'll attract Buzzards even if he doesn't have any friends nearby."

Jost climbed off of the rig's roof and back into the cabin. "We keep moving," he said.

By the time the convoy made it to the canyon walls, the sun was dipping in the sky. The rig was at the front, unhitched and ready to hook the wrecked war rig to it. Behind it came several of the flamers and then the tow trucks and finally a vanguard.

Everyone was on edge, the goons holding their weapons tightly. Gastown had never truly believed in the Faith of the Holy V8 and few really held the idea of a warrior's death in high regard. None of them anticipated battle or the Halls of Valhalla. They prefered the cleansing purity of the Sacred Flame and the undeniable beauty of the Sweet Black Juice which rewarded them in life and offered them riches in death. Jost, meanwhile, muttered quick prayers and requests to several different deities and prophets he had read about, hedging his bets by imploring to as many as possible. Therefore when the convoy re-entered Rock Rider territory, they all anxiously watched the crags and rises for any sign of the reckless bikers.

"Alright get ready," a voice shouted into the grim silence that had descended over the convoy. It was the Blackthumb, likely preparing his men to hook up the remains of the Citadel's War Rig.

The convoy ground to a halt. Jost watched carefully as the Blackthumb and his mechanics scrambled over to the War Rig. Goons rushed over, usually at the shouting insistence of the Blackthumb as he ordered his men to push the pieces of the War Rig into place. After many minutes of protesting, both from man and machine, the wreckage finally began to shift. The Gastown rig jolted for a moment, startling Jost, as the Blackthumb finally hooked the Citadel rig to the back.

"D'ya think she can handle that weight?" the driver asked nervously.

Jost shot a glare at the man, cowing him for a moment, before he sighed. "The Blackthumb hasn't let us down yet," he said in a matter of fact tone, "so I'll take his word for now."

"We're good," the Blackthumb shouted, "Take 'er away."

Jost nodded to the driver who flipped the kill switches and adjusted gears. The rig spluttered and strained for a moment before sliding forward. Every inch eased up the Citadel's War Rig's wheels, allowing the Gastown rig to gain speed and distance.

The Blackthumb then appeared in Jost's window, clinging to the side of the machine. "We should be able to haul 'er back to Gastown and give her a bit of a tune up. If you want her to be given to the Citadel tomorrow I can't get her engines going but she should be easier to haul when I fix up the axles."

"Right," Jost responded, nodding to the Blackthumb.

* * *

Daisy tapped her finger on the desk as she once again went over the ledger in front of her. She was sat in the People Eater's study, now her husband's study. She found the massive, worn and ragged chair that the People Eater had often rested his vast bulk within, was now uncomfortable. Whatever cushioning the chair once had been worn away and crushed with several springs sticking out of tears in the seat's leather veneer.

Still it was the office's chair and it hadn't been that difficult to grab a faded cushion from her room and place it on the seat to comfort herself. If Jost's salvage run was successful then the two of them would be having to deal with the Citadel soon enough and she had to know where they currently stood.

Exasperated at the future conversation she would likely be having with Imperator Furiosa and Immortan Joe's wives, Daisy rubbed her hands over her face, a groan escaping from between her fingers.

She looked back down at the ledger, scanning the numbers in front of them. If Jost's rationing system was correct, Gastown would have enough water for at least another four days if they didn't cut down on cleaning tools and produce, bathing and drinking. Everything in front of her would have to be worked into the case she and Jost would be presenting to the Citadel.

"Miss," a voice said, distracting Daisy from the pages she had been reading.

A large man walked into the room, his footfalls loud and obvious even on the carpeted floor of the study. He was huge and muscular, veins and arteries visible on his thick arms. Atop his head, he had a shock of red hair held underneath a goggle adorned helmet. He wore black, somewhat browned trousers and a series of braces over his chest, various tools and ammunition belts attached to them. His face was flat, his nose broken too many times to be reset and an unfathomable calm confidence was always apparent in his eyes and on his placid face.

"What is it Mcintosh," Daisy asked, settling her face into a look of superior condescension. She had never liked the large man and she knew he didn't care for her or the way Jost treated her either.

"The boss is back," he said simply, "He got the War Rig and the Stretch back."

Daisy's eyes widened at the news. "Where is he?" she asked, getting up from the chair and shutting the ledger.

"The boss and his boys just got back to the garages," Mcintosh said, "they're unhooking everything and seeing to the cleanin'. He sent me to get you as soon as he got off the rig."

Daisy pushed herself away from the desk, brushing down her dress as she did so and walked out of the study, nodding to Mcintosh as she passed him. She hadn't spent that much of her life in the Main Office. She had been born in the dusty upper levels of the Bullet Farm and thus spent most of her sprog years as a shell-sorter brat. Therefore she still had some trouble navigating the twisting corridors. There was enough familiarity, after so many years, to allow her to get around without constantly having to backtrack or double-guess her routes but she still went over the markings in her head every time she turned a corner.

By the time she finally did make it to the garage most of the mechanics were putting what she guessed were finishing touches to the quicktime repairs they were performing on the salvaged War Rig.

Directed by the abrasive shouting of the Blackthumb, the Gastown mechanic crew seemed to be pulling out as much sand and rock as possible and piling it up in one of the few genuinely empty spaces the building had. Sprogs were reaching into tight places on the machine, their arms thin enough to squeeze in, and pulled out broken pieces of machinery or shiftable lumps of debris. The entire process was loud, adding even more noise to the usual cacophony of the garage.

Watching it all was Jost, his hands on his hips and the ends of his coat pushed back. He was a little dusty and his hair was windswept but thankfully he seemed to be the same as he was when he left Gastown earlier in the morning.

"So you got it," Daisy shouted over the din when she finally reached her husband.

"Yeah," Jost shouted back, "hopefully this'll get the Citadel to open up to us. God knows they're not fond of us."

"You offering the guzzoline with it as well?" Daisy then asked, already trying to run the numbers that such a trade would require.

"No," Jost shot back, "I think I'll just give them the rig to start, offer the guzz later. Wouldn't want to spoil them would we?" He smirked at her and Daisy did the same. Both of them remembered the time they had actually seen the Vault and it had been the most extravagantly luxurious habitat in the Wasteland. The People Eater had been almost apoplectic at the sheer waste in the sealed room and Jost and Daisy had silently agreed with him.

"I'm gonna call it a night," Daisy then said, half-turning towards the direction of the door.

"I'll join you later," Jost replied, "I've got a few more things to go over, picking new enforcers for a start." Jost grimaced as he thought about the, still considerable, workload the Fury Road Chase had left him.

* * *

Jost had always been impressed by the Citadel. Whilst Gastown reached higher into the sky than anything else in the Wasteland save the mountains, the bizarre combination of natural stone and industrious machinery had always fascinated him.

It had been nearly two days since the entire Triumvirate lost its old leaders. Jost had been surprised that the Citadel hadn't noticeably changed. Of course it stood to reason that there simply hadn't been enough time but he had still expected something, anything to show him that such a drastic change had taken place. The only difference that he could see from the last time he saw the Citadel was that everything was a little dustier, probably due to the storm a day ago.

Jost sat in the cabin of the Gastown rig, Daisy by his side, one of the People Eater's ledgers in her grip. The Citadel War Rig was attached to the back. Behind him came two flamers and three armed trucks, goons manning every one of them. As they approached the crowds that milled around the Citadel's perimeter parted for them, revealing the beaten path that led to the Citadel's garage.

The Wretched still clustered around the base of the three mesas. Despite Furiosa's decrees there simply wasn't enough room to house the people inside. Jost noticed that the pipes were running. Water cascaded down from the third mesa, pooling at the base. Wretched clustered around it, gathering the precious fluid in whatever containers they had. Some people were even playing and bathing in the pool.

However not all the Wretched were occupied by the water. There was a great crowd clustered around a raised mound of dirt. Atop it, barely visible over the packed bodies of the crowd, was a young women dressed in the same dusty rags as those around her. She was quite obviously a full life and seemed to be healthy enough.

"By our deeds we honour him," the woman shouted and the crowd repeated it. Jost raised his eyebrows as the familiar chant echoed over his rig.

"Brothers and sisters," the woman shouted, "when the blessed Immortan was raised back to the eternal highways of Valhalla we cast his body down, profaned it, wrecked it." As the woman spoke she beat her breast, her voice rising into a frenzied fever-pitch. "We were wrong. When his anger struck us that night we were reminded that the body was dead but the spirit, _his spirit_ , is immortal. He will comeback for us one day and we must prepare for him. Immorta." With that the woman raised her hand into the air. Clutched in her grip was a skull crudely flensed of its flesh.

"IMMORTA!" the crowd roared, repeating it over and over. Other Wretched further away joined in, earning nervous looks from their companions.

"What's with them?" Daisy asked leaning over to Jost as she watched the almost religious sermon with a mix of intrigue, surprise and disgust.

"I don't know," Jost replied. "Looks like Immortan Joe hasn't been forgotten by his Wretched."

"I hope ours don't start doing that with the People Eater," Daisy said with scorn.

"Yeah," Jost replied, "last thing I want is people worshipping him."

The convoy drove up to the edge of the third mesa. In front of them was an empty alcove with a ramp running down the middle. Everyone knew this was merely the first defence of the impregnable fortress. Above was the garage, a massive elevator the only means of access into the massive structure.

The moment the Gastown vehicles had moved onto the entrance road, the ramp had begun to lower. Several Guard-dogs, men tasked with managing the elevator and pulling those Immortan Joe had wanted to uplift, stood on it, weapons in hand. Once the ramp was a little over a man's height from the ground it stopped.

"What d'ya want," one of the Guard-dogs shouted.

Jost hauled himself through the lid of the rig and stood up, looking the man in the eye. "I'm Jost the Splint, mayor of Gastown," he said confidently, using his irritating but well known moniker, "I'm here to talk with Imperator Furiosa and see whether her ties with Gastown still hold." He then gestured to the War Rig behind him. "I've brought this as a gift so that she might be more willing to accept what I have to say."

The Guard-dog stared at him for a moment, his face hidden behind his mask but his body language announcing his unsurity. "Take 'er up," he then shouted and the elevator rumbled into life, drums sounding a work beat for the scrawny Wretched manning the treadmills. "We'll be back," he then shouted down to Jost.

Jost sneered at the news. He didn't like being left alone, surrounded by so many Wretched with only a small guard detail to keep them away. Settling back down into the rig, he saw Daisy looked even more uneasy. Though she tried to hide it, she kept nervously glancing at the unwashed hordes that surrounded their convoy.

"They'd better be quick," Daisy growled under her breath. Jost only nodded, unable to disagree with her sentiment.

* * *

"And they've been doing this how long?" Furiosa asked exasperatedly, wincing slightly from her wounds. After two days the damage done to her during the Chase had been seen to by the Organic Mechanic's apprentice as well as, Ellie, one of the Vuvalini woman that had survived the Fury Road Chase. However they could only do so much and both had told her she risked reopening and infecting her wounds every time she attended meetings.

"Since yesterday morning," Toast replied, "they're being led by this woman. I asked around, they say her name is Nell. She's been screaming to all the Wretched that the Immortan's going to return someday."

"I've heard some in the Citadel are taking it up as well," Capable chimed in, "a lot of the Wretched have been listening to the Warboys and it's just made it worse."

"But why would they do that?" Cheedo asked, "They saw his body. They ripped it to shreds. Why would they think he's still immortal? Why would they think he's coming back?"

Dag sighed. "You don't convince people you're a god without them believing it. It's not that easy to let go," she said simply before returning to the same quiet introspection she had been doing since she had got back.

Furiosa frowned at everything that was being said around her. The wound in her side itched from whatever salves the new Organic Mechanic had put on it and her head still throbbed whenever she moved too quickly. The Organic Mechanic and Ellie had both said she was probably suffering from a concussion and she was lucky her wounds weren't festering and going rotten.

"Is there anything we can do to stop this?" She asked, finally returning to the conversation.

All five of the women were sat around a table. It had been found in one of the many rooms Immortan Joe had filled with his personal effects and had been brought out to one of the larger audience chambers. The common area they now held their conference in was at a crossroad in the tunnels and corridors of the third mesa. The largest door in the room led to the milking room and the Great Balcony whilst another eventually led to the gardens and the Vault.

Around the table, the five woman faced one another. Ellie sat in a chair in the corner of the room, rarely speaking but occasionally chipping in to whatever conversations were going on. Anna, the other Vuvalini woman who had joined them was elsewhere, likely seeing to the orders they sent out from their conference room.

"Well," Toast began, "the Historyman Dag brought in has offered to teach people about Joe's past. If he tells it right it should help dispel these ideas of his godhood."

"Set him up in the Vault," Furiosa said quickly, the throbbing returning, "the sprogs and the women spend most of their time there now so he'll do the most good teaching them. Give him Giddy's old supplies."

All four wives' faces fell at the mention of their old mentor's name. They had never found her body but the Warboys had said that Immortan Joe had her tortured and then left to die in the Wasteland.

Before any of them could speak again one of the doors opened. One of the older warboys, the upper half of his shaven head painted black, stepped through. He saluted Furiosa, his head bowed and his fingers interlocking to form the sign of the Holy V8.

"Imperator," the warboy said, "Sisters," he then greeted the other four women, his head bowing for a second. "We just got a convoy from Gastown showing up at our gates. The new bossman says he wants to talk with ya. He brought the War Rig with him as a gift."

The eyes of every person in the room widened at the news.

Furiosa sighed, her remaining hand rubbing her head. It had only been a matter of time before whoever took over the other two main settlements of the Wasteland came to deal with her. At the very least it was mercy that the new mayor of Gastown had simply come to talk.

"Let them up," Furiosa said, "and show them where we are." The warboy saluted her and ran back out of the room.

Looking back round the table, Furiosa saw several of the Sisters were apprehensive about the decision. Toast seemed the most unconcerned, maintaining a stoic appearance. Cheedo was naturally nervous, showing her concern towards letting a rival ruler into their sanctum. The Dag was scowling now but her eyes betrayed none of her thoughts. It was Capable who looked the most upset at the news. She had come from Gastown originally and had few pleasant memories of the place.

What's more they had little idea of who was in charge of Gastown now. Scabrous Scrotus was long dead but several of his vile subordinates were still alive. The imposing Mcintosh, to her memory, wasn't leader material but he would do a decent job crushing his opposition and riling up the Gastown lads against them. Then there was Jost the Splint. As little as she knew about the People Eater's son she was sure he didn't have much love for them.

"What do you suppose they'll want from us?" Cheedo asked.

"Depends on who's in charge," Toast replied, her voice substantially more confident than the younger woman's.

* * *

Jost sneered as he and his men made their way through the twisting and winding tunnels of the Citadel. The entire place was full of Wretched, their disgusting smell filling the air. Even when enough water was being wasted on them that they could bathe the vile people stank. Looking at Daisy he saw she shared his distaste for them, holding her sleeve over her nose and mouth to mask the smell.

It had taken far too long for them to be brought up to the Citadel. The storm a few days ago hadn't struck Gastown but some of the dust and sand had obscured and dirtied their signal, preventing them from sending word ahead. Again he reasoned that his poor reception had simply been due to a lack of communication but he couldn't help but feel indignant at the way he and his men had been treated.

He had walked these halls before, marveling at the way the tunnels had cut into the rock. After living in the steel and concrete jungle of Gastown the stone and occasional greenery of the Citadel was fascinating. It was comparing the organic bone of a man with a copper rod.

Now, however, the entire building was filled with garbage, both material and human. The Wretched lay on every available space, rolling around in their own filth and leaving their stains on every surface. When he had last visited the Citadel with his father he had witnessed discipline and respect from the people that had lived behind its walls. Thankfully the sight of his goons, all armed with precious automatic weapons, had driven the Wretched away from them and carved a path through the press of bodies.

Finally they made their way into the interior of the third mesa, the heart of the Citadel. As they approached a large door, Jost found himself standing to face to face with a large collection of warboys.

Their leader, an older warboy with a cancerous lump bulging out from under his left armpit, raised his hand at the Gastown convoy. "You're to stop here," he said to the goons, "only the leaders are allowed to go through."

Jost prickled at the warboy's words but signalled for his men to stay. "Lads," he said, "stay on guard. Daisy you're with me." With that he stepped forward, staring down the warboys as he did so. The scraping of shoes on stone and the flutter of cloth indicated that his wife was right behind him.

He stepped through the door, a scowl on his face. Stopping a moment to scan the room, he saw a large circular table surrounded by chairs. Five of them were filled. Furiosa sat in the seat opposite the door, her bruised face the first thing to greet him as he entered the room. The former wives of Immortan Joe were all sat in a rough circle spreading out from her. Jost noticed one of them, the older blonde woman, was missing. In a corner of the room was a much older woman Jost didn't recognise. Her battered clothing suggested she was some wanderer from the Wasteland.

"Jost the Splint," Furiosa said in a tone that was neither a greeting or a question, it was merely an acknowledgement. Nearly every woman in the room frowned as they appraised him.

"Yes," he replied steadily, keeping eye contact with the woman directly in front of him.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"I'm here to oversee the turnover," Jost replied, "Since you have taken the Citadel and made some changes," Jost struggled to keep his contempt from emerging in his tone, "I wanted to see if any of the deals between you and Gastown have changed."

Furiosa's brow furrowed at his words, "I was assuming that everything stays the same, you get the water and produce, we get the guzz."

"Good," Jost said, a small, false smile appearing on his lips, "because you're behind on your last shipment to us. I found the rig that was supposed to be hauling it tipped over in Rock Rider territory and missing everything you owe us." His theatrical smile quickly transformed into a frown as he glowered at the women.

Instead of rise to his jab, all five women immediately turned to one another and began muttering.

"Do we even have enough to give anymore?" the youngest asked with a concerned look on her face.

"They gave us the rig back," the white haired one added, "it'll make things easier for us. we just have to fix it."

"But we don't have enough for everyone as it is," the dark skinned woman interjected, "Corpus has already told us were depleting the stores by opening them to the Wretched. Can we really give away more food now?"

"We have to," Furiosa insisted in a quiet but firm tone, "we can't lose the guzz." She then shot Jost a glare. "At least this one can be reasoned with. Imagine who could take over if we let Gastown fall."

The other women became uncomfortable at the truth in Furiosa's words. It was obvious that none of them wanted to abandon the people they had uplifted by giving away even more precious food away.

Through the whole whispered conversation Jost saw the red haired woman hadn't said a word. She had merely stared into space, switching between angered and saddened expressions at random intervals. He had noticed that she hadn't once looked at either him or Daisy since they had entered the room.

Tired of the wait, Jost cleared his throat loudly, trying to get the attention of the women. "You know," he interrupted, "that I'm not the only one out there waiting for the shipment. I don't know what's happened to the Bullet Farm but they'll be the next ones to come knocking at your door for water and produce. Knowing that lot whoever takes over they won't be bringing gifts when they show up, they'll be bringing heavy ordnance."

Jost knew for a fact that the Bullet Farm had several old tanks and artillery pieces salvaged from some ancient camp built before the Fall. However he also knew that the Bullet Farmer had constantly kept quiet about whether he had any working ammunition, at least whenever he had overheard the man.

All five women scowled again at his words and he answered them with a similarly sour expression. He saw even the older Wastelander woman was coiled as if ready to pounce on him.

"We're going to need at least a day, maybe two, to fix the War Rig," Furiosa finally said, "What conditions the trailer in?"

"The tanker's good to use," Jost replied, "the rig itself is shot though."

"We can hook it up to one of the backups," Furiosa acceded, "We'll still need a day to clean it out and fill it up."

"That's fine," Jost said, "we'll expect the usual rate of exchange of course."

Daisy stepped forward and leaned into Jost's ear. "That's two hundred canisters of water," she whispered to him, "there should also be a ton and a half of produce and fifty canisters of milk."

"Right," Jost whispered back, noticing the intrigued expressions on the faces of the other women.

"We'll give you the usual ten thousand units in return," Jost continued.

"Twelve thousand," Furiosa interrupted, "we've lost a lot thanks to the Chase."

"Fine," Jost replied, eager to finish the deal and willing to sacrifice a little bit more to end it, "we'll expect the shipment in two days. I'll send the word ahead to the Bullet Farm."

"Done," Furiosa said, her brow twitching at Jost's declaration that he would be giving the Bullet Farm expectations. Jost noticed that she was glancing behind him at Daisy. Turning his head he saw she had one of the ledgers in her hands and was hurriedly scribbling the details of the deal in them.

"Well then," he said as he saw Daisy finish writing, "I think we're done here. I'll expect everything to be exact." With that he turned and walked out of the room with Daisy behind him.

As soon as he left the room he found his men still standing ready. Their weapons weren't cocked but they were held close. He nodded to them and the goons immediately surrounded him and Daisy. Prodded on by the warboy's the Gastown party made it's way back to the garage.

Jost felt good about the day. Another problem had been crossed off of his list. Now he had the Bullet Farm to deal with.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Bullet Farmers**

 _Long Ago_

 _The People Eater settled back into his wide chair, squashing the cushion he sat on, and smiled. He was running over the latest numbers and was pleased with the returns the new outposts were giving him._

 _Scabrous Scrotus was proving to be a sufficient investment. He didn't particularly care for the waste of human life and his Land Mover was an expensive mobile obscenity but on the whole he was the warrior the People Eater had been looking for. By his command the Gastown armies had expanded their holdings, found new crude deposits and made themselves the talk of the Wasteland. If he kept it up, the People Eater was sure Scabrous Scrotus would even give Gastown the power to challenge the Citadel._

 _The People Eater chuckled at the thought of arrogant, delusional Joe Moore being deposed by his own cast-out son and ever generous Gastown being the means through which he did so._

 _With the Buzzards pushed back into the Dunes and beyond and the weak scavengers like Jeet and Gutgash constantly losing ground, Gastown practically had the entire southern coast to themselves. Already his salvage crew were picking up whatever useful garbage they could find. Joe would demand his tithe of steel, plastic and rubber of course but whatever else was left was his to sell as he saw fit, at the prices he set._

 _Glancing over the pages of his ledger, the People Eater smirked and chuckled with pleasure at the neat, orderly lines of words and numbers that indicated his wealth and his genius at business. Even in the ruins left behind by the end of civilization there was still trade and transaction and he was the master of it._

 _The sound of his door creaking open suddenly pulled the People Eater's attention away from his books._

 _He had left the doors to his office open. In the early days he had kept the reinforced wooden doors shut for fear of possible assassinations but as the years went by and his position solidified to the point of indestructibility, he had taken to leaving them ajar, largely as a way of signifying to his men that he was not afraid of them or their petty attempts to earn promotions violently._

 _However now what he saw was not one of his enforcers, or his goons, or even one of the serving boys. It was a young boy of four, somewhat unsteady on his legs as he tottered forward. He was dressed in tattered but ultimately whole and sturdy clothes and had a shock of brown somewhat curled hair._

" _Joshua," the People Eater muttered irritably, rising uncomfortably from his seat. "Where's the damn Historywoman when you need her?"_

 _He didn't like to be disturbed when he was reading, especially when it was by his wastrel of a son who he questioned the value of keeping daily. He hadn't cared for the other brats he had inadvertently sired over the years and the only reason he kept his current boy around now was because he was a full-life with no discernible deficiencies._

 _Whether he liked it or not, the People Eater and Immortan Joe shared one thing in common. They were afraid of leaving their life's work to someone else. Both of them wanted to be sure that when they died and were put in the ground that it was their blood that sat on their thrones afterwards. The People Eater had felt a great deal of satisfaction when he announced that another one of his attendants had given birth to a child of his. The 'old, insane colonel' had not taken the news that it was a healthy son well and had made sure that the Bullet Farm got the pick of the Citadel's produce for several months after that._

 _The People Eater lumbered over to his son, his own vast bulk putting a strain on his body. He was going to take the boy back to his room and then discipline the Historywoman for letting him wander about and disturb him._

 _Joshua looked at him and smiled. The People Eater was almost taken aback by the expression, it being a rare one for him these days._

" _Daddy," the boy said, lifting his arms and waving them at him._

 _The People Eater's face quickly transformed into a foul mask of anger and indignation. Rage lending him strength, he ran at the boy, his false nose, a replica made to replace the organ he had lost to Jeet's men three years prior, threatening to fall off. He closed in on his still smiling son, lifted one leg and kicked him._

 _Joshua squeaked in pain as he was flung backwards, the blow too quick and too sudden for him to scream. Before he could make another noise the People Eater was on him, pummeling his ribs, arms and legs with a flurry of blows. Angry as he was, the People Eater still took care to avoid his son's head. He needed the boy's brains intact if he was to take his place. Still he wasn't going to let that get in the way of teaching him a lesson that he thought he had already taught the boy long ago._

" _How many times do I have to tell you?" the People Eater shouted, punctuating every word with another hard blow, "You call me Boss!" One of his fists came down hard on Joshua's arm and there was a grisly snap that even he heard in his anger choked state._

 _The boy cried out in pain. The People Eater slowed his assault as the sound of boots entering his office finally caught his attention. Several goons and a few of his attendants had run into the room, probably attracted by his shouting and the crying of his son._

 _Finally an older woman, her skin aged by the desert and covered in tattooed words, ran in. An expression of shock immediately appeared as she saw what had happened to her charge._

 _The People Eater pulled himself up from the floor, one of the goons rushing forward to help him to his feet._

" _Get that idiotic piece of shit out of my office," he shouted at the Historywoman, "get him down to the mechanic if you have to and then teach him properly. I am the boss and he will address me as such." The Historywoman rushed forward to grab the boy that was lying on the floor crying, startling when she brushed his left arm and caused him to scream even louder._

" _Get him out!" the People Eater roared again, now thoroughly annoyed at his son's antics._

 _The Historywoman ran out of his office, most likely to find the Organic Mechanic. Several of the goons and attendants did the same, panicked by his sour mood. The People Eater slumped back into his chair, which squealed in protest, and massaged his bald head. He looked back at his closed ledger and reached for it but found he couldn't._

 _He didn't care for his numbers anymore. He just wanted to soothe the headache his son had now caused him._

 _Reaching down, he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a dirty brown bottle. It was whiskey, probably one of the last bottles in the world, and it was his. The Immortan didn't care to drink anymore and Major Kalashnikov prefered his own home brewed rotgut but he, he expected the best._

 _Taking a glass out of the same drawer, the People Eater filled it. Lifting the glass to his lips, he threw it back, downing the liquid in one go. He then immediately refilled the glass. Already the headache was disappearing under a pleasant buzz. Hopefully it would help him forget what a horrible day he had just had._

* * *

The Bullet Farm was a depressing and greedy hole in the ground that devoured those who descended down into it. The old lead mine that had been abandoned during the Fall as water became scarce and order collapsed had been expanded into a massive foundry that squatted on the desert floor. Toxic smoke rose into the sky from the chimneys that stuck out from the various buildings that had been attached to the open pit of the mine after the farmers moved in.

Big Stack took a deep breath as she stared over the walls, tasting the sour air that was further fouled by the terrible vapours that the Farm's crops produced during their harvesting.

She was a tall, healthy full-life woman, standing at the same height as all but the largest of the Bullet Farm's men and far broader than most of them. Every pound of her stocky body was bundled muscle that had been formed in the foundries and garages during her childhood and reinforced further on the battlefield. Her face was flat, her nose broken several times in fights and poorly reset by her comrades afterwards and her hair, which was a dark brown, was cropped short enough to be almost cleanly shaved away.

She wore the drab brown fatigues of the lead-reapers, the armed force of the bullet farmers. Her lieutenant medals, hand-forged from spent casings, were still attached to her over-shirts collar. However, since taking over as the new Bullet Farmer, she had begun to augment her uniform with bandoliers of ammunition, just as the Major Kalashnikov had.

Like she had every morning since she took over, Big Stack was thinking of her new lot in life. She had never expected to take over, never thought the sainted Kalashnikov would fall in battle. Truly she had thought he would outlast her, even in his old age. However the blessed Angel Combustion had seen fit to take him onto her bosom and thus it had fallen to her to take command and see that the sacred work of the Bullet Farm continued.

"Sir," a voice cut through her thoughts. Big Stack turned to see one of her lead-reapers, a thin and reedy man who had cut the sleeves from his fatigues and tattooed ink ammunition belts on his arms, addressed her. He had called to her with the Major Kalashnikov's title, the sign of the Bullet Farmer.

"What is it?" she said.

"We just got word from Gastown. They said their new boss is comin' to meet us. Some guy by the name a' Jost the Splint."

"They on their way?" Big Stack asked.

"Yes sir," the lead-reaper replied.

"Well then get the reapers on the wall and clear some space for them, Big Stack ordered. "I'm sure the bigwig of Gastown is gonna want to make a big show of himself." Just as the reaper was about to go she then added. "Oh and send out a message. Make sure they know what to expect."

"Sir," the lead-reaper saluted before he ran off to organize the bullet farmers for her. Satisfied that her orders were being carried out, Big Stack returned to looking out over the Wasteland.

Jost the Splint, Big Stack mulled over the title. She knew the name and vaguely remembered the man it belonged to but she wasn't particularly familiar with him and wasn't sure what to make of him like she didn't know how to deal with the Citadel's new leadership. According to the lead-reapers that had survived the disastrous battle on the Fury Road, Imperator Furiosa had led the Immortan Joe's wives into battle and slaughtered nearly the entire war party, killing the three great leaders of the Triumvirate single-handedly.

Fury bubbled up from deep within Big Stack at the mere thought of the sainted Major Kalashnikov dying at the hands of an unworthy heathen. Despite what her ma had taught her she couldn't help but question the Angel for ripping him from the world in such an ignoble manner.

"Sir," another voice shouted from behind her in the courtyard, drawing Big Stack's attention once again, "we got sights. It's a rig and several flamers flying Gastown's colours."

"I'll be down there," she shouted back, turning away from the walls and walking to one of the access ladders.

"Sweet Angel why d'you test me so?" she muttered to herself as she clambered down onto the dirt floor of the Bullet Farm's outer ring.

* * *

"What are they saying?" Jost shouted up at the goon above him on the rig. Whilst on their way to the Bullet Farm, one of the lookouts on their convoy had finally spied a reply from the Farm's messaging tower. Now one of his goons was sitting atop the rig's cabin, reading the message out through a set of binoculars.

"They've got our word," the man replied, "they say they'll let us in and that they're setting up a welcome for us. Probably means they're puttin' every gun they got on the walls and're rolling out the fleet to meet us." The goon set his binoculars down as the flashing signal finally stopped.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Jost muttered to himself.

The Gastown column continued on to the Bullet Farm. The long chimneys of the mine's foundries had been visible since they set out but now, as they got closer, the walls were coming into view. The Bullet Farm hung low, mostly clinging to the ground and making it hard to make out any features until you got close to it.

Despite his own difficulties with maths, Jost had brought one of the ledgers with him just in case. At the very least he could scribble down the numbers and add them up later.

Soon enough the Bullet Farm's gates came into view. The entire fortified compound was surrounded by a ditch that encircled the Farm's thick walls. In front of the ditch was a mound of dirt that acted as another wall preventing enemy engines from coming close.

There was only one access point, a single small gateway connected to the surrounding Wasteland by a bridge of dirt. A few groups of Wretched clustered near the bridge but they knew better than to approach unless they were invited. The Farm was rich in lead and had no problem planting its crops in those foolish enough to demand unwanted entry.

Jost saw the gate was manned by dozens of lead-reapers. It seemed the entirety of the Farm's war-party had climbed atop the walls to greet him.

"Stop the rig," he said to his driver and he waited as the machine he was sitting in came to a halt. He knew the rest of the convoy would only take a few seconds to realise they were supposed to stop as well. using his good arm, he slid back the access hatch on top of the cabin and climbed up.

"Bullet farmers," he said as sat himself down on the cabin's roof, "I am here to speak with the new guardian of the Bullet Farm and to bring word from the Citadel."

He then sat back and waited for a reply. He could see every lead-reaper was eyeing him and his convoy intently, waiting for something to indicate whether the Gastowners were a threat they were allowed to retaliate against or not.

"You Jost the Splint?" a loud, clear voice suddenly shouted out from the gate.

"Yes," Jost answered, a little confused, "I am."

The voice didn't reply but the sound of whips cracking and gears grinding were heard a few seconds afterward. With a loud squeal the gates of the Bullet Farm were opened up. The lead-reapers raised their weapons, several of them cocking in anticipation.

"Come on in," the voice said again.

Jost hesitated for a moment but quickly rapped his elbow on the roof of the rig. With a start the vehicle rolled forward, the other cars following after it. The entire column nervously passed through the Bullet Farm's main gate and made their way onto the inner road that circled the mine.

In front of them was a massive dirty grey pit. It fell deep into the earth culminating in a dirty pool of water, most likely fouled by the metals the Farm harvested for their crops. Cranes clung to the side of the mine's walls, constantly raising and lowering buckets of equipment and ore. The Wretched were everywhere. They too were bullet farmers but they were the lowest rung in the Farm's hierarchy. It was they that braved the dangers of the mine and thus reaped the costs of such a hostile and deadly environment.

When the last of the Gastown convoy made it past the gate the voice called out again. "Alright that's far enough," it said. At the same time the gates began to swing shut, many of the lead-reapers turning to appraise the convoy once again.

Eying the guards, Jost looked around for the voice. "So who's in charge?" he shouted out to the bullet farmers.

"That'd be me," the voice shouted again. Jost saw a figure clamber down from the walls and walk out onto the road, two lead-reapers armed with fully automatics by its side.

The figure was a woman, or at least Jost thought it was a woman. She was huge and thick, her face flattened and ugly and her head shaved like the lead-reapers around her.

"So you're the new boss?" he asked confidently.

"That'd be correct," the woman said, "I am Big Stack, the Bullet Farmer, Guardian, Judge and Executioner of the Bullet Farm." Jost noticed she gripped her own handgun tightly as she spoke.

"Pleasure to meet you," Jost then said, once again fixing his fake smile to his face. His disarming expression had worked at the Citadel so he was sure it would show as much success with the new Bullet Farmer.

"What d'ya want," Big Stack asked impatiently.

"I'm simply here to reaffirm the deals between the Farm and Gastown and tell you what to expect from the Citadel." Jost kept his smile on his face as his carefully pre-prepared words spilled from his mouth. Big Stack maintained her appearance of stoic displeasure, merely raising an eyebrow in response. It seemed the new Bullet Farmer was as humourless as the old one.

After several seconds of tense staring, Big Stack finally moved, swinging her arm as a signal. "We'll talk in my office."

Jost rapped his fist on the top of the rig's cabin. "Forward," he shouted. The convoy roared back into life and made their way down the rest of the road, rounding the mine and making it round to the main compound.

Jost fingered the handgun, his father's which he had found in the remains of the Stretch. He was still nervous around the Bullet Farmers, finding the militant efficiency they displayed far more intimidating than the chaos that had engulfed the Citadel.

At the other end of the Bullet Farm, across from the main gate, was the central compound. Here lay the smelters, the foundries, the barracks, the garages and the main office of the Bullet Farmer. Here was where the privileged of the Farm lived.

The Gastown convoy parked in the open area of the main compound, the rig taking up most of the space. The Gastown drivers, already well used to resting in hostile environments, managed to arrange the parked vehicles in a way that would easily facilitate their escape should they need to.

Jost stepped out of the rig as Big Stack, who had ridden to the compound on one of the Farm's bikes, walked up to him.

"So you're the guy in charge of Gastown?" she said, eyeing him up and down.

"Yes," Jost replied, keeping eye contact with the larger woman.

"Right. This way." She turned and headed towards one of the larger annexes attached to the main foundry.

Jost began to set off after her when she suddenly stopped and spun on her heel to face him again.

"The goons stay here," she said with a flat tone and a stoic expression.

Jost frowned at her. The two of them stared at one another, waiting to see whether the other would betray anything or back down. With a sigh, Jost waved to his men to stand down.

"Stay with the rig," he ordered.

Big Stack nodded in what he assumed was a gesture of approval and then turned back to the annex. Jost followed after her, making sure not to look at the lead-reapers he was sure were enjoying his moment of vulnerability.

He stepped through the door into the annex and found himself in a thin, metal and concrete plated corridor. It was bare and unpainted and also perfectly clean. The previous Bullet Farmer had prized what he claimed was old military protocol and one of those was apparently a standard of cleanliness that neither Gastown nor the Citadel maintained.

Still the floors and walls did have smudges and stains. Black smears of gunpowder and white streaks of raw saltpetre that were rubbed deep into the skins of the walls.

Jost followed after Big Stack as she stomped through the empty corridors. It appeared that few ever used this annex, likely because the Bullet Farmer's office lay within.

Finally they came to a thick metal door held shut by a wheel-lock. Big Stack stepped forward and heaved on the metal wheel, prising it open and spinning until the door unlocked entirely. Opening the door she stepped inside and indicated for Jost to follow.

The Bullet Farmer's office was filled with weapons. The late Major Kalashnikov had prized his arsenal above all other things and had refused to keep his own personal guns anywhere but his side. Racks of firearms lined the walls alongside boxes of carefully sorted and placed ammunition of all kinds. the smell of gunmetal, gunpowder and cordite filled the room.

On a large desk that lay at the back of the office, was a pair of scales. They were set on a corner of the desk, the dust around it showing that it had not been moved since it had been placed there. Ammunition was placed in it. There were rounds of different sizes but both scales had an equal number of bullets in them, keeping them in perfect balance. Jost saw the scales had even been nailed to the desk, all to keep it steady and in place.

Big Stack went over and sat down in the large chair behind the desk. In a room devoted to militant utilitarianism, the padded leather seat was the most extravagant item in the room.

"So you're here to 'reaffirm our deals'?" she said, looking him in the eye.

"Yes," Jost replied firmly. "I also wanted to see who was in charge. I can see the Bullet Farm is in good hands who know what they're doing." He grimaced slightly. "The Citadel is going to ruin."

"Imperator Furiosa in charge?" Big Stack suddenly asked.

"Yes, she and the wives of the Immortan Joe. They've let the Wretched up into the Citadel and are throwing water down to them like its sand." Jost watched as Big Stack sat back in her seat, a look of contemplation.

She then leaned forward again, her stoic expression returning but with a hint of curiosity remaining.

"So what d'ya want from me?" she asked.

"Just to know where we all stand," he replied honestly. "The Citadel is being run by a bunch of idealists who think that the Wretched will do what you want if you're nice and generous to them. They're already dealing with trouble from the filth that clusters at the base of the Citadel. If something happens to them we lose water and produce."

Big Stack began to grin as realisation dawned.

"So you want me to be ready if something does happen?" she said, more as a statement than a question.

"In a way," Jost said, grinning as well. It seemed this woman knew how the world really worked. "If they can't get their act together someone who knows what they're doing will have to do it for them. If the time comes where order has to be restored by others I may need your assistance." He then stepped forward until he was right in front of the desk and held his hand forward. "Do we have an accord?"

Big Stack spat in her hand and quickly gripped Jost's. "We have a deal," she said, "I swear by the blessed Angel Combustion that should trouble come our way I'll bring the entire Farm down on it and see that justice is served."

Jost struggled not to grimace as he felt the larger woman's saliva smear over his hand. His business done, he turned from her and made his way out of the office. The sound of metal squeaking told him Big Stack was likely going to follow him.

He made his way out of the annex and out into the courtyard. The convoy was still there and so were the lead-reapers. His goons warily watched the bullet farmers, several of them tensing up when he stepped out of the main office's door, followed by Big Stack.

Jost walked up to his rig, opened the door and climbed in. Big Stack walked up to the rig's side and peered in.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Jost said with another practiced smile, dredging up a phrase he had read in several books. Out of sight, he wiped the hand he had shook Big Stack's with on the seat of the rig.

"May the Angel bless you in your work," Big Stack responded.

Jost nodded and then turned to the driver. "Drive," he said simply. The driver nodded in response and started up the rig. The revs of the rig's engine indicated to the rest of the convoy that they were leaving.

As the convoy filed out of the compound and back down the inner road, lead-reapers watching them all the way, Jost pondered the new situation. The Bullet Farm was in capable enough hands it seemed. However when he had dealt with her, like when he had dealt with Furiosa, the whole relationship had felt different. When he had watched the boss talk business with the Immortan and the previous Bullet Farmer there had been a hierarchy. The Immortan had dominated the dealing and the People Eater and Bullet Farmer had eventually, often after some protest, given into his demands.

Now, however, there was no true hierarchy. He had dealt with Furiosa and Big Stack as equals in an alien partnership that felt so fragile and unworkable. It was clear that someone had to be in charge of the Triumvirate, someone had to serve as the directing hand of the Wasteland. As he leaned back into his seat, Jost pondered just how he could bring the new Triumvirate into line.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: A New Balance**

The Citadel surged with activity as the elevator lowered itself to the ground. Unlike the last five days, the ramp did not carry Wretched, instead it had brought down War Boys. The contingent of heavily armed warriors had beaten back the Wretched that had immediately clustered around the ramp and had ordered the road in and out of the Citadel be cleared. Now the ramp was being lowered once again and this time it carried the War Rig.

Toast the Knowing coughed into her hand as a thin wave of dust was kicked up by the wind and into her face.

War Boys surrounded her, protecting her from the Wretched that reached out to her. She had grown more wary of the sickly and starved men and women since her return to the Citadel. In such a short time they had gone from pitiful creatures to threatening animals and despite her better judgment telling her to be concerned for them, a part of her couldn't help but want to keep them at bay.

Two cars, survivors from the Fury Road, and several warbikes were already manned and on the road, arrayed in formation and awaiting the War Rig.

She looked up watching the War Rig as it descended. The rig itself was a backup, a spare machine that had been brought along for the Chase but hadn't received damage. It had been hooked to the old War Rig's trailer and assigned to her. Even if the machine was different, the entire spectacle seemed strange to Toast. It brought back too many memories, too many ponderings of her place in life. So many things were different now but too much of it felt the same.

Still, none of that mattered right now. Today was the day they had agreed to deliver. Gastown and the Bullet Farm were expecting them and there would be a high price to pay if they didn't make it on time.

"We are War Boys!" a voice shouted from atop the trailer of the Rig as it approached the ground.

"War Boys!" the men around her shouted back, lifting their right hands and raising their clenched fists to the sky.

"Kama-crazy War Boys!" the voice sounded again.

"War Boys!" the answer came. Toast remembered hearing them shout the exact same words when Furiosa had helped them escape. Memories of being cramped in the hollowed out delivery space of the War Rig came flooding back.

"Fuku-shima kama-crazy War Boys!" the call came.

"War Boys!" the men around her answered one last time as the ramp touched down on the ground.

Toast watched as one of the older War Boys, a man named Axel, walked forward. Furiosa had handpicked him from amongst the surviving warriors to serve as one of the Citadel's new imperators. The War Boys needed leaders and Axel had been one of the more balanced and trustworthy of their number.

"We're good an' hooked," Axel shouted. "War Boys on top. Driver in the cabin."

The War Boys immediately scrambled atop the War Rig. Toast hurried with them, making her way to the cabin of the Rig and pulling herself into the seat. Another War Boy sat down next to her in the driver's seat, flipping the kill switches and checking the gauges as well as making sure the small arsenal of hidden weapons were in place.

"Today we're goin' to Gastown!" Axel roared from atop the Rig.

"Gastown!" the War Boys shouted back. The noise washed over Toast.

"Today we're haulin' aqua-cola!" Axel announced.

"Aqua-cola!" the War Boys repeated.

"Today we're haulin' produce!" Axel continued.

"Produce!" the War Boys shouted in reply.

"Today we're haulin' mother's milk!" Axel said, breaking from the script Toast remembered on the first day of the Chase.

"Mother's milk!" the War Boys repeated regardless, returning Toast to her reflection.

"And today we're haulin' one a' the Sisters!" Axel then said, finishing his speech.

"Sister!" the War Boys shouted with reverence. "Blessed Sister! Wife of the Immortan!"

Toast did her best to hide her revulsion at the monicker. For days now Wretched and War Boys alike had come to her and the others asking her for blessings. She had been wary about the praise and idolatry at first but her concern had quickly grown when she found out why they regarde her so highly.

They adored her and her sisters because they had been married to the Immortan. His abuse had made them holy to these people and they pestered her constantly because of it.

Shaking herself from her own thoughts, she turned to the driver and nudged him. "Drive," she said to him.

The driver nodded to her and changed gear. The War Rig lurched forward with a start and then moved smoothly down the open road in front of it.

Toast watched as the Wretched clustered after them.

"They ride brothers and sisters!" a voice suddenly screeched over the rest of the noise. Many of the Wretched quieted as a ragged woman perched herself atop a rock by the road, a skull clutched in her hands. "Shiny and chrome the War Boys ride to our blessed neighbours. The Immortan awaits their spirits on the eternal highways. Bless us mighty warriors of the Immortan."

Toast frowned as she finally saw the woman known as Nell. She had been preaching her disgusting, twisted versions of the Immortan's lies for days now and the more she said the more rabid she became. The Wretched were listening to her still and spreading her vile messages throughout the Citadel, preying on the people's fear and ignorance. What's more the War Boys, many of them feeling lost without their god, were heeding her words as well.

"Valhalla awaits!" Nell shouted one last time, lifting the skull above her head and bowing like a salute. "Immorta!" she shouted and many of the Wretched took up her cry.

Toast sighed as the Rig drove past the frenzied masses and out into the Wasteland. Like they had so many times before, the War Rig followed the road to Gastown.

The escorts took position around the War Rig as it moved. Even after the terrible losses on the Fury Road, the roads between the great settlements of the Triumvirate remained well guarded. Gastown, at the very least, had most of its patrols abroad. They needed to protect their distant oil-horses and pumping stations and their armed caravans helped fight off intruders as well.

As the convoy ate up miles, Gastown came closer into view. Toast had never seen the massive oil refinery except in the distance. It had seemed like a shining torch in the distance, almost beautiful, like a star brought down to the wastes.

As it came closer to view, Toast suddenly realised just how ugly the industrial edifice really was. As more of it revealed itself to her, the shining lights were replaced by dirty metal. The almost graceful towers became riddled with annexes and additions, like pustules on a person's body and the fires turned from white and red to dirty orange and black. Now, the pall of soot was hovering over her.

She saw the flashes of Gastown's signal array, likely informing them of their approach.

"We're comin' in on the final stretch ma'am," the driver said to her, not taking his eyes off of the road.

They passed through the infamous Jaw without incident, moving into the oily bog known as the Dump. Filled with puddles of oil waste and fouled crude, the Dump was a hellish and deadly environment to navigate. One mistake could easily light a pool and send the unwary to oblivion.

Toast tensed as the driver nimbly guided the War Rig through the treacherous landscape, following the well worn road that had been carved between the pools and pipelines long ago.

Soon the first gate of Gastown lay before them. A ramshackle shantytown of Wretched sprawled in front of the gate, the unfortunate inhabitants rising and clustering beside the road at the sight of the approaching Citadel convoy.

The convoy slowed as it came to Gastown's first great gate.

"Ho Gastown," Axel called from atop the tanker.

"What is it?" a weary voice called back. "Nother Scrapulance?" A masked goon pulled his head over the battlements of one of the lookout towers and peered down at the Citadel vehicles. "What we got ere'?" he shouted down.

"We hail from the Citadel," Axel shouted. "We're here to deliver our rightful haulage of food an' rich bountiful aqua-cola to the gracious and generous people a' Gastown."

"What's goin' on?" another voice roared. A second goon climbed atop the tower, stalking up to the first and looming over him. "Were you sleepin' on duty again?" he shouted.

"No sir I was awake and aware. I merely missed the approach of our deliverers," the first goon nervously replied. "We mustn't keep em waitin' after all?"

Toast could almost see the second, larger goon sneer under his mask, his body language announcing his rage.

"Open er up," the second goon shouted. Toast heard a whip crack on the other side of the wall and soon gears began to grind.

The gates opened slowly and under great protest, the heavy doors squealing on their hinges. As the portal opened wide, Toast could see the road that lay ahead of them. Before them was the second gate that guarded access to the immense oil refinery, beyond that was the bridge that spanned the oily waters of Gastown's moat and beyond even that she could just make out the top of the third great gate. The paranoia such a defensive array displayed almost shocked Toast. It truly revealed to her just how much Gastown prized their guzzoline.

Turning her head back to the lookout tower she saw the smaller goon was operating a signal system, flashing a message back towards Gastown.

"Go on ahead," the larger goon shouted down to them. "The others know to let you pass."

Toast nodded to the driver who shifted gears again and drove the War Rig forward. As the Citadel convoy passed the gate and sped towards the second gate which was already tentatively opening, she heard a shot sound.

"No more chances," the voice of the second goon echoed behind her.

Ignoring the unpleasant sounds that quickly receded behind her, Toast focused on how she intended to handle delivering the supplies.

The trip over the bridge and through the gates was thankfully uneventful. However Toast couldn't help but feel more apprehensive the more Gastown revealed itself to her. Everything was coated in grime and soot. People crawled around on the ground, soaking up spilt patches of oil or grabbing at spare scraps to barter and trade with one another.

The Citadel convoy drove past the final gate and into the front compound. The driver moved the War Rig into an open space that was formed when the Gastowners in front of them scattered. The escort vehicles fanned out and parked themselves as well, arrayed around the War Rig in a protective circle.

Toast climbed out of the War Rig as the War Boys leapt off of their vehicles. She stood there, unsure what to do as Axel shouted orders to his men.

The Gastowners who had scattered before were clustering in a circle around the convoy. Armed goons kept the Wretched and workers at bay but even they were struggling to hold back the mass of flesh that was straining to see or touch the Citadel vehicles.

"Bring out the food first," Toast shouted to Axel, "we'll let them get the water and milk themselves."

"Right," Axel shouted back. He turned to his War Boys. "You heard the Sister. Get the produce out and on display."

The War Boys opened up the compartments in the trailer, the same compartments she remembered having to clamber through to get around the War Rig in the early stage of the Fury Road Chase. They then began to carefully lift out boxes of fruit and vegetables.

The crowds became even more excited and agitated at the sight of fresh produce and the shouts and warnings from the goons grew louder. A warning shot was fired off and the crowd backed away slightly.

The crowd suddenly split at one end as a new vehicle slowly drove into the clearing.

The car was stately and delicate compared to the others that surrounded it. It smoothly moved into the compound and came to a halt. A goon stepped out of the front passenger seat and then opened one of the doors in the back.

Toast watched carefully as a woman, the same woman she had always seen with Jost the Splint stepped out. She was dressed in a long black dress that, whilst worn in many places, was far more valuable than anything else worn by the people around her. Her dark hair was tied back behind her head and her face appeared to be painted white. She reached back inside the car and pulled out a parasol, opening it and holding it up against the burning sun. In her other hand she held a ledger and a small abacus.

The woman had a frown on her face and she held herself tall and straight. She signalled for her goons to step forward and the armed men immediately began to advance on the War Rig.

"Nice to see you could make it on time," the woman said.

"We brought what we agreed on," Toast replied curtly with a frown. She didn't like talking to this arrogant woman.

"Good," the woman replied with a smirk, "I'll make sure that you're right."

She nodded to a goon on her left.

"Get collectin' our due," the goon shouted to the other men beside him. "Bring up the canisters too, we got water to harvest."

The War Boys tensed as the goons all began to walk up to the produce they had arranged in front of them. The two opposing forces stared one another down, the goons never once stopping as they came forward.

"I'll be making sure that everything adds up correctly," the woman then said to Toast, lifting her abacus closer to her face as she joined her men around the produce.

Toast watched as a goon lifted out a head of lettuce and hefted it in his hands. he was weighing it, making sure that it was the correct weight. He gave an estimate to the woman who nodded and then watched as he went through the entire box of vegetables and repeated the process. The woman nodded and wrote down the numbers in the ledger, her parasol held in the crook of her arm.

The goon lifted the box and turned to the woman. "Oi, Wither," he said, "where d'ya want this?" Toast saw the woman pause and tense at his question.

"Put it in the first truck and wait until we're full." she said, her voice now much quieter and more angry.

Toast watched quietly as the slow process was repeated over and over until well over forty boxes had been weighed, counted and taken away to be loaded on vehicles.

"Right," the woman said, "get collecting the water and milk. Fill the canisters to the water mark, not an inch higher or lower."

The goons grumbled as they went to collect dozens of large metal containers from another truck. Setting them by the Rig, they went to man the pumps, War Boys glowering over them as they did so, their eyes scanning them constantly for signs of tampering or treachery.

Toast walked up to the woman. She was bored beyond belief by this point after spending so long simply watching tedium. The other woman wasn't busy either, she was looking over one of the pages of her ledger but wasn't writing anything in it. The moment the woman closed the book, pulled a small fan out of her dress and began waving in front of her face, Toast approached her.

"So you're Wither?" Toast asked carefully, trying to strike up some kind of conversation.

The woman shot her a glare. "Daisy, actually," she snapped back.

"But they call you Wither?" Toast continued, ignoring the dirty look she was now receiving from Daisy.

"That's not my name," Daisy replied, still glaring at her, "and I'd appreciate you don't call me that."

The two returned to silence as Daisy continued to fan herself. Toast watched as the goons filled canister after canister under the watch of her War Boy contingent. Glancing around, she saw the rest of the Gastowners were starting to disperse. They knew they weren't welcome at the moment and many of them likely had work to do. The ring of goons still remained but they had started to relax a little now that most of the Wretched had gone.

Eventually the last of the canisters was filled, the lead goon announcing the completion of their task.

"Good, give me the numbers and then run this lot to the refrigeration stores. We need to get this all chilled as quickly as possible." Daisy dismissed most of her men with a wave as the lead goon ran the numbers by her. She meticulously scribbled the figures down in the ledger and then turned back to Toast.

"Everything is accounted for," Daisy said curtly. "We'll keep an eye out for the next shipment. now our part." She turned back to her men. Several were climbing into trucks that now held the boxes of produce and canisters of water and milk. "Bring up the guzzoline." She shouted.

A whip cracked and Toast turned to see a trailer loaded with oil drums being rolled into the compound by several dozen Wretched. Armed goons surrounded them, one of them carrying a whip and beating the slower members of the group with it.

"Twelve thousand units of prime guzzoline," Daisy stated, "freshly processed, preserved and stored. Just as we agreed."

The Wretched towed the trailer up to the War Rig and then turned it to face the rear of the Citadel rig's tanker. The Wretched were then dismissed with a final crack of the whip and the War Boys came forward to hitch it up.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Daisy said in a flat, dismissive tone. Toast saw she wasn't looking at her but was instead finishing off her writing in the ledger.

Toast sighed in frustration and scowled. "Everything's accounted for, then. We'll see you for the next delivery."

Daisy hummed and nodded in response, finally shutting the ledger and raising her head to look at her.

Toast nodded back and then turned to the War Rig, glad to be rid of the woman. She climbed back into the cabin, the driver taking position beside her. She heard the War Boys clamber onto the Rig's back as well, telling her the Gastown shipment was safely hooked onto them.

"War Boys!" Axel shouted, the men of the convoy shouting back to him enthusiastically in response. "Today we're goin' to the Bullet Farm!"

"Bullet Farm!" the War Boys responded. Toast looked outside and saw that many of the Gastowners were watching them.

The very name of their next destination put Toast on edge. She remembered the Bullet Farm. her childhood had been nothing but gunmetal, saltpetre and spent casings. She had been sorting shells the moment she was old enough to tell the bullets apart from one another and she had hated every minute of it.

At first, when she was too young to understand what it was she was doing, she had merely hated the noise and the smell and the ugly lead-reapers who had kicked her whenever she got in their way. Later, when she was about eight years old, she had finally figured out what the Farm's crops did to people and on that day she had realised what she hated was the bullets that she held in her hands.

When the Bullet Farmer came for her and told her, right to her face, that he was going to trade her, she had kept her eyes on his, never once backing down. It was the first time she had seen her lord and master up close and she had decided at that very moment that she hated him.

When she was taken away to be made a wife, she had never looked back. She hated the Bullet Farm.

Even when she was confined within the depths of the Vault and subjected to the Immortan's abuse, a part of her had felt happy that she was anywhere but the Farm. Even then, she had vowed she would accept anything if it kept her away from the sight, sounds and smells of the Bullet Farm.

Then Furiosa had come and offered her a new chance at living, a new way, a better way where hope and life could flourish and she would never have to endure the smell of gunmetal, the feeling of blackpowder or the sounds of the presses as they formed casings for what Angharad had aptly named antiseed.

Now she would be going back. She had known she would be going there the moment she volunteered to oversee the convoy but she still had trouble accepting it.

As the Rig turned itself around and made its way back onto the road out of Gastown, Toast watched the people file away from the convoy. Daisy and the care she was in had disappeared into the crowds with the trucks and trailers that were now carrying the supplies they had given out. Toast didn't know what the Gastowners would do with the supplies but she knew that it wouldn't be shared equally. Gastown had a new master but nothing had changed.

The trip north to the Bullet Farm was long and somewhat worrying. They were running alongside Buzzard territory and despite the damage they had done to them during the Fury Road Chase, there would always be more, watching and waiting for weakness.

Thankfully none of the spotters saw any sign of rusty, spike covered vehicles. Instead the convoy rolled over the road between Gastown and the Bullet Farm without any trouble.

Soon enough the Bullet Farm's smokestacks came into view. They stabbed into the air, like bullets arrested in flight. Toast steeled herself as her former home came into view.

When the Citadel convoy reached the gate of the Bullet Farm, Toast saw that the farmers had come out in force. Heavily armed lead-reapers manned the walls and a single large vehicle was set in front of the gate.

It was huge and flat. Caterpillar tracks, like those the Peacemaker had rolled on, were underneath it and an enormous gun thrust out of the top. It took Toast a few seconds to identify the machine that now crouched in front of her. It was a tank, one of the many war engines the Bullet Farm was rumoured to possess.

"Halt and name yourself," a loud voice shouted over a speaker system.

The driver looked at her questioningly. Toast nodded to him and the driver shifted gears, bringing the Rig to a halt. The escort vehicles slowed and did the same.

"We are the Citadel," Axel's voice called overhead. "We have come to bring our trade of aqua-cola and produce in return for the Bullet Farm's crops."

The bullet farmers stared back them. There was a tense silence as the two forces faced one another. Suddenly the tank started with a splutter that sounded like the angered grunt of a terrible beast.

"Open the gates," the voice from the tank shouted. Whips cracked and gears grinded as the Bullet Farm's central gate was opened up. The tank drove backwards through the gate, the gun still trained on the War Rig.

"You can proceed," the voice shouted again.

Toast nodded to the driver and then rapped her fist on the ceiling of the cabin. The War Rig moved forward, the rest of the convoy following after it, and passed through the gate, the eyes of the lead-reapers never leaving them.

The Bullet Farm was just as awful as Toast remembered it. Wretched slaves toiled deep within the huge round pit of the mine. To Toast they looked like the insects she had occasionally seen crawling in the desert sands.

The convoy followed the tank as it slowly made its way down the road that led past the mine and to the main compound. The lead-reapers marched along the wall, keeping pace with the convoy and eying them warily as they went.

The convoy wound their way into the heart of the Bullet Farm, coming to a halt in the open compound that was surrounded by the Farm's foundries and other buildings. Toast suddenly felt nervous. The smoke stacks loomed over her now like they had in her childhood, dredging up old memories.

The tank stopped before them, tracking their movement with its gun, and opened the hatch on its turret.

A large woman clambered out. She was dressed in a lead-reaper's uniform but now had belts of ammunition stitched to the sleeves and she wore a headdress made of bullets that looked exactly like the Bullet Farmer's.

"Ho the Citadel," the woman shouted at them. "You are now in the Bullet Farm. Deliver your wares and we will do business with you."

Toast opened the door of the Rig and climbed out so that she was hanging from the side of the cabin.

"Who are you?" she shouted at the woman.

The figure in front of her bristled the moment she actually laid eyes on her, as if her very presence was an insult.

"I am Big Stack," the woman announced, "Bullet Farmer, guardian, judge and executioner of the Bullet Farm and keeper of the guns. Who are you Citadel woman?"

Toast took a deep breath, straightening on her perch and shouted out in the strongest and clearest voice she could muster. "I'm Toast the Knowing of the Citadel. We're here to make peace with the Bullet Farm."

"I've heard of you," Big Stack replied bitterly, "and if I had my way I'd have seen you and your _sisters_ ," she spat the word as if it was poisonous, "for target practise. Still a deal was made and the Bullet Farm will keep its word. Bring your wares out and we'll bring ours."

Toast stepped off of the Rig and indicated to Axel to start unboxing the Farm's share of the produce. She saw Bullet Farmers approaching with canisters to fill with water and milk.

Big Stack remained standing atop her tank, glowering at her and her men. It had already been made evidently clear that the larger woman did not like them and she seemed to want to take any opportunity to hammer her feelings in.

Like in Gastown, the boxes of produce were brought out to be analysed and weighed. The bullet farmers were just as exacting as the Gastowners. Toast remembered the old Bullet Farmer's obsession with justice and balance. Whenever the supply convoys came to the Farm he would make sure the value of the goods that were exchanged was counted again and again to make sure the trade was equal.

It appeared Big Stack was no different than her predecessor. She loomed over the entire exchange process, wordlessly commanding her lead-reapers to analyse the produce over and over until she was satisfied they had guessed the value correctly.

Once the food was taken, the water and milk was collected. This was, thankfully, a much quicker process and only took half the time it had taken to gather the produce.

"It appears we're in accord," Big Stack said from her perch atop the tank. "You've kept up your end of the bargain and so here is ours."

At a barked command several boxes filled with bullets were brought up. Sealed jars of black powder were carried out as well along with bundles of thunder-sticks tied together with rope woven from Wretched hair. Toast hated seeing so much antiseed in front of her and knowing she would be taking it back to her home but they needed it.

Killing was still necessary in her world.

"Our business is done," Toast said as the War Boys picked up the assorted weapons and ammunition and loaded them into the produce compartment of the tanker.

"Indeed," Big Stack replied. "All's fair and in balance."

Toast climbed back into the War Rig and signaled to the driver. Once again the massive war machine rumbled to life, weighed down by its new haul of deliveries. The escort vehicles turned themselves around and made their way back onto the road whilst the driver tried to guide the War Rig out of the compound.

The bullet farmers continued to watch her carefully as they left, continuing to watch them even after they finally made it through the Bullet Farm's main gate and back out into the Wasteland. Toast never once looked back as they sped back down south to the Citadel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Forming A Plan**

Jost weaved his way through the busy throngs of Gastown. Goons flanked him in a ring, roughly shoving those who didn't move out of the way quickly enough. He had made his way down from the main office and into the bowels of the refinery.

Whilst most of the area was given over to the processing machinery, delivery pipes, holding tanks and other devices that made Gastown work, one area had been cleared out for a completely different purpose. The, almost empty, area had been filled with bars and galleries that people could climb inside. The purpose of this layout was to allow people to spectate and occasionally take a few attempts to jostle or hit combatants.

This was Gastown's Thunderdome.

Jost had always loved the Thunderdome. Even before he was too young to understand its purpose, the thrill of the fights and the energy of the surrounding crowds had always infected him. Seeing his father actually enjoy something aside from reading his ledgers had also encouraged him to visit the annual games whenever Amnesty took place.

Of course the next day of Amnesty was far away and the Thunderdome stood empty. Still he had not come here to ask about the games. He had instead come to find a very specific person.

For years now the fights in the Thunderdome had been overseen and announced to all by the flamboyant and charismatic Doctor Dealgood. Once a traveller from further east, the good doctor had made himself a well known and somewhat regarded figure in Gastown, managing countless other events.

Of course the Wasteland had not been kind to him. Wherever he had come from, he had apparently made enemies. When questioned he had merely said that he ' _busted a deal but outran the wheel_ '.

His body had been broken when they first found him and his face was horrifically burnt down his left side. The finery that he always wore had been protected in plastic bags and held close to him at all times, guarded as if they were as precious to him as food, water and guzzoline were to others.

Still none of that had deterred the good doctor from his tasks and had definitely not quieted his loud voice which did a magnificent job riling the crowds into a frenzy of enthusiasm. It was he who had introduced the Thunderdome and its rules to Gastown. Of course he had happily accepted the alterations the People Eater and Scabrous Scrotus had made to the tournaments, changing it from a tradition of justice and into a blood sport.

Jost found the man skulking at the foot of the arena, underneath the private box his father had always filled with his foul bulk. Here Doctor Dealgood kept the hidden door to his nest. He rarely spent time in his rooms, preferring to make himself apparent to all and displaying himself to the Gastowners around him.

Doctor Dealgood was a tall and wiry man. He was draped in a tattered black fur coat with a dust stained white trim. His face still bore the burn scars that covered his left side and gave him a raw, wrinkly appearance. His left eye still bugged out slightly thanks to the damage that had been done to his left eyelid and socket by whoever had tried to kill him. On the top of his head was a single lock of white hair that had been tied into a single strand. His steel tipped staff lay by the door to his nest but was still close enough for him to grab.

"Doctor," Jost called out somewhat amiably, his false smile once again fixed to his face.

Doctor Dealgood turned from his quiet contemplations and finally saw the armed contingent coming his way.

"Ah, sir," he said in a respectful tone, bowing his head and grabbing his staff. "How may I help you today?"

"I'm looking for some information and you're the man I've heard know's what I want to hear," Jost said as he closed in on the Doctor.

Doctor Dealgood looked confused at Jost's request. "I don't normally deal in information," he responded.

"I'm planning something special," Jost began, speaking before the Doctor could continue. "Scrappers have been telling me very interesting stories about a settlement to the east, goes by the name of Bartertown." Jost felt elation when Doctor Dealgood physically seized up at the mention of the name. He definitely knew. "Now I know that you supposedly came from around those parts so I was wondering if you knew where this place was."

Doctor Dealgood hesitated long enough for Jost's smile to disappear and be replaced by a frown.

"Well sir I do know where it is," he said before Jost could give his goons an order, "but I'm not sure how welcome you'd be. They don't like competition for business and Gastown has been attracting a lot of trade."

"Well that doesn't matter," Jost said, his smile reappearing. "They have something that I want and I'd find it very helpful if you'd expand our maps a little bit with directions to this place. I've got plans you see and pigs are some of the things I need." Jost then pulled out his sidearm and pointed it at the Doctor. "If you don't give me directions then I'm pretty sure the Outcrier would be more than happy to take over the Thunderdome as well as the Races. He's been complaining about this place offering desperate racers and fighters an alternative to hunting down more of his lighties for him."

Doctor Dealgood paled visibly. "Of course sir," he said. "I'll go and see to immediately."

"Excellent," Jost replied and watched as Doctor Dealgood began to scuttle in the direction of the exit. "Oh," he suddenly then said, turning to his goons, "see to it that the good Doctor doesn't get sidetracked on the way." Two members of his guard detachment peeled off and moved over to Doctor Dealgood. They then followed him out of the Thunderdome.

"If you're wrong or you mislead me I'll stitch you into your furry coat and throw you into the Dump," Jost shouted after the Doctor. He had a lot of long-term work ahead of him and he definitely wasn't going to tolerate any disruptions.

* * *

"How is it all looking?" Jost asked Daisy as the two of them loomed over their work desk. He had moved another chair into the office for his wife to sit in. He had copied her brilliant idea of filling the rut his father had left behind in the leather of his own chair with a cushion but he still found he wasn't comfortable in the stretched out seat.

"Production's still going as it always has," Daisy replied as she switched from the newest ledger to several older books. To Jost they all blurred together, the numbers fading in his head whenever he tried to add them up. He frowned as he tried to concentrate but he still couldn't get anything to add up. He had to trust that Daisy knew what she was doing.

"I think we should slow production for now," Jost then said. "With all the damage we won't need to fuel as many vehicles. It's just going to spoil if we leave so much excess. We can use the time to repair and fortify the pumping stations."

"We can't just cut off production like that," Daisy shot back. "The last thing we can afford to do is look weak. I say we sell the surplus to the Scrappers when they come back and buy whatever useful junk they can give in exchange."

"And what do you suggest we do with their junk?" Jost asked, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat. "Half of what they own isn't useful to us."

"We sell it to the Citadel." Daisy suggested, looking him in the eye. "Or the Bullet Farm. Or the Rock Riders for all it matters. We can buy some of their goat and monitor meat. Or we can use some of it to fortify the outlying pumps since we lost so many vehicles." Daisy paused and took a deep breath, looking at her husband with a determined expression. "We just need to find some way to balance the books without looking weak. We can't afford to waste anything but we can't just shut off the pumps and make everyone think we're struggling."

Jost pondered what she had just said to him. His hand covered his mouth for a moment as he thought about the course of action his wife was suggesting.

"Fine," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Sounds right to me. We're going to need to get the armada back to standard again though. If we can't afford to look weak we definitely can't afford to be weak."

"We didn't lose that much," Daisy pointed out, reminding him that their losses looked worse than they really were.

"Yes but we also have the most ground to cover." Jost answered. "The Citadel and the Bullet Farm have it easier than us. The moment the likes of Jeet or Gutgash see our patrols aren't as strong or happening as often they'll attack us."

"There's also the Stretch to consider," Daisy then continued, switching the topic of the conversation. "How are we doing with that?"

Jost frowned. "The Blackthumb says that we'll have the rig itself up and running again in about a day or two. Quality takes time, he says." He then rubbed his face in exasperation. "The tanker though. That's shot. It'd be easier to find the parts to build a new one than try to fix what little's left of the old one."

"Well that's gonna be a problem if you insist on taking the backup east." Daisy said, throwing a questioning look at her husband. "Do you really want to risk everything on the chance that this Bartertown will have pigs?"

"I've said it before," Jost replied, "we need to look to the future. The Wasteland's changing so much, so quickly. I want to leave my mark, our mark, on it." He paused for a moment as he collected his thoughts again. "And if we're going to do that we need the pigs and whatever else I can find in Bartertown."

Jost saw Daisy smirk at his speech. He had told her it before, in the privacy of their own quarters. It had often helped them through the more difficult days when the People Eater had treated them particularly poorly. Hope was a dangerous thing but they had both known the People Eater would die someday and that they would take over.

Now that they were in charge they could begin to make all of the changes they had dreamed of and enact the plans they had made. They would both be wealthier and more powerful than any other wretched soul in the Wasteland could believe.

"That may be," Daisy said after a moment, "but we still need to bring the armada back to what it was before the Chase."

"Yeah," Jost agreed. "The sooner we fix the rig the sooner we can start scouting east."

Daisy sat down and looked away from the ledgers on the desk. Jost noticed that she seemed lost in thought and watched her as she mulled over her thoughts. He knew she was deeply considering something.

"Jost," she finally said hesitantly, "I think now would be good enough for a child."

Jost's eyes widened at his wife's sudden words. "A child?" he finally said, barely believing what Daisy had said.

"Yes," she replied in a firmer tone. "The People Eater's gone, were in charge and I don't have forever to do this. The sooner we start the more times we get to breed a full-life." Daisy's tone wavered between nervous and business-like, a part of her was trying to approach the issue in a clinical fashion but struggling.

"I see what you mean," he said.

Jost remembered that Daisy had been given to him years ago for the express purpose of breeding a child. Both of them had also known that the instant they did bring a sprog of their own into the world, especially if it was healthy and born a full-life, it was his father's property. Both of them had held back from breeding, usually waiting until after Daisy's bleedings to make an attempt and then reporting their failure to conceive to the People Eater. Only the Organic Mechanic's reports stating Daisy was healthy and viable had kept the People Eater from throwing her back down to the Wretched and they had often worried he would finally give up one day and find a replacement for her.

Now, however, with the threat of their father gone, they were free to try, properly.

His mind made up, her reached over the desk and grabbed the back of his wife's head with his good hand. Daisy, startled by the feeling of his hand on her, looked at him only for Jost to press his lips to hers.

His tongue probed at her teeth for a second until she opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out as well. The two of them stood their, looming over the desk as they kissed. Then a moment later, Jost pulled away.

"Soon," he said. "We'll do it soon. But we've got too much business to take care of now."

Daisy nodded, a smile on her face. It wouldn't be much longer now. She already ruled the refineries with her husband but soon she would make an even greater mark on the Wasteland through a new heir to Gastown.

* * *

The Dag glowered as she watched the new Organic Mechanic press an ear to her belly and lick his lips in an expression that could be called contemplative.

"Couldn't tell you what's going on in there if I tried," the greasy full-life man said. "I don't even think the boss at his best could either. Still too soon for details but I can definitely say you've got something growing in there."

The Dag glowered at him, both for his lack of help and his disgusting presence. She didn't want to be here, back in the hands of an Organic Mechanic and their oppressive tools. Ellie, one of the last two surviving Vuvalini had supported her, telling her that their clan's ways had been to let the pregnancy run its course and trust in the Great Mother to deliver a healthy child.

Furiosa, however, had objected. She had seen many wives come and go and had warned her that making sure the child was healthy was especially important. Broken children had a tendency to break their mothers as they were born.

"Is that it?" she asked the Organic Mechanic as she sat up straight.

"About," he replied noncommittally, turning away from her and back to his various desks and racks covered with tools and machines. "Can't say what you'll need at the moment besides water and clean food."

The Dag pulled herself off of the table and walked out of his room. She immediately found herself walking into the War Boy barracks. By obvious necessity the warrior's quarters were situated near the Organic Mechanic, unfortunately it mean she now had to wander through the twisting tunnels inhabited by aggressively zealous and violent young men.

The War Boys did respect her and the other Sisters now with most who came across immediately bowing and offering her a V8 salute. She didn't care however, the smegs were responsible for so much damage, so much dried up death that the mere sight of them was disgusting. She had seen plenty of their type back in the Wasteland, before they had brought her to the Citadel.

Leaving the older boy's barracks, she came into the War Pups lairs. The young children, not yet able to fight, were quartered on the edge of the War Boys' territories.

As she walked into the tight area that had refuse and garbage strewn across the floor, she saw most of the Pups were clustered together around the brightest light in the cave. Sat in the centre of the huddle, was Capable. She was talking to them like she had Nux. Back during the Chase, though it hadn't happened often, the Dag had seen her red-haired sister speak softly with the gangly, excitable War Boy before they had turned the War Rig around.

She had spent the last few days since they had liberated the Citadel trying to teach the other War Boys what she had taught Nux. Unfortunately very few of them were really willing to listen. Some had heeded her words and realised they didn't need to be as kama-crazy as they normally were but all of them still believed that glorious death and the McFeasts of Valhalla eventually awaited them.

Apparently the War Pups were easier to teach. Of course they were then retaught everything Capable tried to change by the War Boys but the red-haired woman still held out hope that she could improve their lot in life just like the Sisters had everyone else's.

The Dag didn't see the point of it all. Nux had probably been a once in a lifetime chance, never to come again. No other War Boy was going to change his mind about Valhalla and it was pointless to convince them to try.

* * *

For the last six days the Wretched of the Citadel had been given free roam of their new home. Where once they had cowered at the foot of the mesas now they were allowed to live, to learn and to drink to their heart's content.

Roaming through the tunnels of the third mesa, the garage and barracks, was a young woman. She was thin and wiry and her body had only the hints of adulthood showing through her slender frame. Still she was healthy and strong. She was Nell and she was the voice of the Immortan's divine spirit. Fifteen years, that was what the sickly old woman who constantly hung around her ma had said her age was and she had spent every one of them awaiting a god.

She was healthy, she was a full-life and she was prettier than any other girl around her had been. Due to this she had known that at any moment the blessed Immortan who watched over them from on high and gifted them with water would see her blossoming womanhood and make her his wife. She would bear him godly children and live in bounty. It was this promise that had helped her live through the torturous days at the Citadel's foot.

However there was then that fateful day. The day when the Immortan had come down with all of his War Boys and gone to war. It had been a glorious sight, to see the entirety of the holy armada descend from the Citadel, the drums and chords of war loud and mighty. She had hoped that day that someone, anyone, would sight her and aware the Immortan of her.

A day had passed and the Immortan did not return. Then, when another had dawned, his mighty chariot had returned, his dead body atop it and lesser beings crewing it. She had watched as her fellow Wretched had ripped a god's body apart, her dreams disappearing into their maws like his blessed flesh.

When the storm had hit that very night she had cowered but deep down she had been elated. His spirit had returned in the roaring winds and furious burning sands. That day he had come in her dreams and revealed the truth of his death.

Imperator Furiosa and the Sisters were the rulers now but they were mere mortals. One day they would die and _He_ , He would come back and lift them all up.

Now they called her Firemouth Nell for her impassioned preaching. She was the Immortan's word and his spirit came from her mouth whenever she spoke the truth to all of the Wretched around her. Fear, fear of the storm had fanned the flames of their devotion whilst desperation had brought the War Boys and War Pups to heed her.

She was their guide, their shepherd in the Immortan's absence. The Imperator and the Sisters may govern His possessions but she was the one who watched over their spirits. Between them, the Immortan's great work would continue.

"Firemouth," a voice suddenly called, distracting her from her thoughts. She turned and saw a War Pup about her age running up to her.

"What is it?" she asked, curious to find out what could possibly have brought such a young warrior to seek her out.

"I've got words," he blurted out nervously. "Big words. Chrome words." His eyes seemed to shine as he spoke, confidence growing in his tone with every word.

"What?" Nell urged him, now even more curious about what he could possibly have to tell her.

"It's the white haired Sister," he said. "I was up at the Organic's garage hitching up the bloodbags when I overhear him speaking with her." The War Pup suddenly hunched over, the nervousness back in his voice and on his face. "She's bred with the Immortan before his death and has his child in her."

Nell's eyes widened at the news. This was a sign, the sign she had been waiting for. This was his comeback, his return down to them. His spirit had returned through his breeder.

"Tell everyone," she said to the War Pup. "This is the sign. The comeback is soon to be upon us. He will return through the child." She felt giddy and struggled not to bounce on her feet, everything she had been saying for the past six days was about to come to fruition.

The War Boy nodded enthusiastically, an excited expression on his painted face. He then turned and ran back through the tunnels, whooping joyously as he went.

Nell turned back to the direction she had already been walking. Before she had been wandering aimlessly, searching for some inspiration, something to tell her brothers and sisters. However inspiration had sought her out instead. She had a lot to prepare for now. The Wretched would have to know. So would the War Boys and War Pups.

The Citadel would have its new Immortan and she would be the there to make it happen.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Smoke On The South**

The sun rose over the Southern Wasteland, revealing a twisted, dried up land of rolling hills, sunken saltbeds and enormous, rust-coated wrecks. Once there had been water covering this area, lapping up the many miles and rolling over the parched hills until it reached the boundaries of Gastown's closest oilcamps.

Scag had heard the stories before but he had never really cared. Apparently while there had been plenty of water it had also been poisonous, fouled by the salt that surrounded him in cracked heaps. All that mattered to him was this area was his responsibility. It was his job to take his chariot through the area and patrol it. They were on the edge of Gastown's territory and the Main Office didn't take kindly to news of enemies on their turf.

He was sat in his chariot, a souped up vehicle that had been made strong by the skilled mechanics of his camp. His onboard flamer, Blare, was sat in the back, eyes on the horizon and fingers on his flamer's trigger.

They had stopped on top of a high rock and set up a longlooker to spy on Jeet's territory.

Peering through the sights of the longlooker, Scag could see the lighthouse, Jeet's fortress. Well over a thousand days ago Gastown had ruled everything right up to the rival warlord's gate. Under Lord Scabrous Scrotus they had cut across the land and flattened any crazy enough to stand against them.

Now Jeet had his space, had his salvaging grounds and had his people to back him up. Scrotus' death those thousand days ago had been the end of their rule in these parts.

Leaning back from the longlooker, he turned to his right and saw the scarecrow he and the rest of his camp's crew had set up nearly a hundred days ago. A tradition maintained from the days of Scrotus' rule, the scarecrows were useful ways of telling the other warlords that this was gastown's land and that they wouldn't accept any intrusion.

"Oi Scag," Blare said from his perch. "We got a dust cloud and shapes in Jeet's turf. Give it a look."

Scag turned back to look through the longlooker and peered around.

"Where'm I supposed to be looking?" he asked as he swung the apparatus around.

"Down in the valley floor," Blare replied. "Look's like a warparty."

Scag turned his gaze down to the valley in front of the lighthouse and finally saw what Blare had pointed out.

There was indeed a warparty. Many vehicles were all roaring through the valley, flying Jeet's flag. Warriors and scavengers alike were piled onto the cars and trucks and every one of them was waving around some kind of weapon. Worryingly many of them were armed with small firearms and the kind of heavy crossbows that every Wastelander knew fired explosive tipped shots. Thankfully there were no rigs but several larger, heavily armoured trucks were bringing up the rear.

Ahead of the main warparty were bikers and Scag knew they had likely seen them.

"We're going Blare," he shouted as he grabbed the longlooker and pulled it back into the car. He then started up the engine, a smile growing on his face as he felt and heard the V8 rev into life.

Scag sped his car off of the rise and back onto lower ground. He knew the patrol routes like the back of his hand and immediately picked his course. He would return to the camp and see that a warning was passed on. His heart hammered in his chest with excitement as he felt every shudder from his car, every whir from his engine and the enthusiastic cackles of Blare which he could just hear from outside.

"We got company," Blare shouted. "Eyes on. Eyes on."

Scag risked a glance into his rear-view mirror and saw two pursuit vehicles and a bike were speeding after him. Jeet's men had already spotted him and were either looking for an easy kill or knew he would warn others if he escaped.

"They're comin' up on us," Blare shouted to him. "What we gonna do?"

Scag glanced at the accelerator switch that worked the nitrous boost and then shifted his gaze to the button that activated the side-burners, an upgrade he had worked hard to earn. His mind made up, he tightened his grip on the wheel with his left hand and banged on the roof with his right.

"We fang it," he shouted and Blare gave a joyous whoop.

"Fang it! Fang it!" Blare shouted as he warmed up the flamer and let out a few spurts of fire in readiness.

The bike was the first to catch up with them. The frontal rider kept his ride out of the flamer's range whilst his lancer readied a heavy crossbow.

Thinking quickly, Scag pulled off a sharp turn and sent his car right at the bikers. The lancer panicked and sent out a shot that missed him, embedding the heavy bolt in the side panelling instead. The car crashed into the bike a moment later, sending the machine careening to the side, both riders falling off and crashing to the ground painfully.

Scag steadied the car again as Blare jeered at Jeet's men, letting off several more spurts of flame to mock them.

"Don't waste the guzz," Scag shouted back to him. "We're gonna need every drop soon."

The other two cars raced forward to catch up with Scag's vehicle. Both were painted in Jeet's colours and had a pair of lancers perched on them, each of them armed with crossbows and javelins.

One car, equipped with a supercharged V6 engine, fired off a nitrous boost, a rare device for people outside of the Triumvirate, and immediately shot forward to catch up with Scag.

"Gastown," Blare shouted as he fired his flamer. A great sheet of fire burst out of the weapon, engulfing the enemy vehicle before it could slow down and get to a safer distance. Both lancer's who had been clinging to their perches, screamed in pain as the fires caught on their bodies and clothing. The car itself burnt for a while before it crashed into a rocky outcrop a moment later.

Blare laughed at the wrecked vehicle before turning to Scag.

"Flesh toast," he said with relish and a grin. Scag returned the expression as he felt adrenaline rush through his body, supercharging it. This battle was a rush he never found anywhere else. Neither the races, nor the Thunderdome compared to this.

The other enemy vehicle, having seen its companions get taken down so brutally, was more cautious. It kept pace with Scag but tried to fire off crossbow shots from a safer distance without getting caught out. However both drivers noticed the road they were thinned as it approached a shallow canyon.

Scag slid his car closer to the enemy vehicle, risking bolts and javelins in order to stay on the road. He saw the car from Jeet's party had decided to do the same.

"Blare," Scag shouted. "You're up. Toast em."

"Can't," Blare shouted back. "They got a bead on me." Scag risked a glance and saw Blare crouching behind a shielding panel he was holding in front of him. Two heavy bolts were already embedded in it and Scag could see the one of the lancers on the enemy car was hurling javelins at him whilst another loaded and fired a crossbow.

Snarling, Scag put his hand over the sideburner. Both cars were now in the canyon and were brushing bodies. He pulled the button and a series of exhausts placed underneath the chassis let out several jets of fire.

The enemy car squealed off course as the driver panicked. The javelineer on the side was caught in the flames and fell off, his body engulfed in fire. The car smashed into the canyon, bounced off and tipped over whilst Scag raced onward.

He couldn't go back to the camp. If Jeet was out in force like this and was sending this many men out to stop patrols and scouts, then his camp wouldn't be strong enough to hold off an attack and any message they sent out would probably be either too late or intercepted. He would have to go straight to Gastown to give the news.

A smile split Scag's face as he changed direction.

War was coming to the Wasteland. He had missed the great chase that had taken place on the Fury Road and had killed gods and overlords. Now however, he was the first combatant in another struggle. He had made his mark and he was sure there was plenty more to come.

A common refrain in the Wasteland came to his mind as he sped over the rocky paths, a saying that everyone now said when life was going their way. As Blare continued to cackle at the carnage the two of them had just unleashed, Scag threw his head back and shouted his joy.

"Oh what a lovely day!"

* * *

Jost stormed into the garage, Daisy and Mcintosh at his heels. The news had come to them only a few minutes ago. Jeet was on the move. The goon that had driven right up to their doorstep hadn't known what their intentions were but he had just fought his way through two enemy cars just for being on the edge of their territory. Whatever it was, it was big.

"Summon the warparty," Jost shouted at the top of his lungs. The noise carried a little over the noises of the garage but enough heads turned to get his message. Immediately mechanics and goons rushed off to relay the command.

"Get the backup hooked onto a full trailer," Jost shouted into the scrambling mass of humanity, "I want extra fuel on this. Enough for a hundred vehicles." He grabbed a passing goon suddenly with his good hand. "Send a message to the Citadel and the Bullet Farm and get flares ready I want the others to know this is big."

The goon nodded and then ran off in the direction he had already been going.

"I'm coming with you," Daisy said, standing tall behind him.

"No, you're not," Jost immediately responded.

"Yes. I am," Daisy shot back to him, stubbornness entering her tone.

"You're not going. I'm not risking my successor on some minor war with a lesser warlord." Jost said, finally turning to look at her and seeing the determined expression she wore whenever she had made up her mind.

"You haven't got a successor yet," Daisy said, looking him in the eye. "My body's empty and until I've got you planted in me every war risks your successor. You go to war," she poked him in the chest, "I go to war."

"You're my wife," Jost snarled at her, stepping right in front of her and pressing his forehead against hers.

"I'm a bullet farmer," she spat back, pressing her forehead back against his. The two of them stood there for several seconds, staring down the other and ignoring anyone who was curious or confused enough to look at them.

Eventually Jost's face turned from an angry grimace into a sinister smile that then shifted again into something that looked proud. A few chuckles escaped his lips as he pulled back from her.

"Alright then," he said. "But you're with me throughout. You get in the rig and you stay there unless I say otherwise."

Daisy nodded and then stepped up to his side once again. She grabbed a sidearm from a passing goon who shot her a furious look but continued on his business, snatching another gun from a smaller soldier.

The chaotic throng of activity finally became more organised as cars were fueled and wheeled out into the main compound outside of the garage. Jost fingered his own handgun as he sat in the rig that would be accompanying the warparty.

A warparty of about twenty vehicles had been cobbled together. Twelve trucks, seven of which were flamers, five polecat vehicles, a spare scrapulance that had quickly been repurposed as an ammunition carrier and a single armoured car as well as the war rig. This was the available might Gastown could spare for the muster. Goons manned every vehicle, many of them perched atop their own vehicles with the bulk of the unmounted force riding atop the fortified tanker attached to the rig.

Daisy sat in the backseat of the rig. He had insisted she sit away from the windows and was currently sandwiched between two goons. She didn't look pleased but he shot down every one of her protests.

"Go," Jost said to the driver who gunned the idle engine and guided the rig forward.

Gastown's warparty did not speed out of their fortress. They carefully made their way through the Dump, slowly weaving between the treacherous pools of spoiled water and waste until they had passed into the inner defences of the Jaw.

Once they were free of the oppressive shroud of smog that covered the refinery, Jost pulled out a flare gun, loaded a black cartridge and opened the roof of the rig. He raised the gun and fired. As the flare flew into the sky and then burst into a small cloud of colour, he loaded a yellow cartridge and fired again.

With the Citadel and the Bullet Farm duly warned, he shut the roof and settled down into his seat. His heart was hammering in his chest and his brow was sweaty. His left arm hurt with phantom pain and he clutched it close to his side as he nervously fingered his handgun.

For the first time in his life, he was going to war.

* * *

"Imperator! Imperator!" a War Boy shouted as he ran into the council chamber. "We got flares sent up from Gastown. They're calling reinforcements in. They told the Bullet Farm too."

Furiosa turned to look at the War Boy. She and the Sisters had been holding a council to discuss the actions of Nell. Her grip on the hearts and minds of the Wretched was surprisingly strong. It was only because of the fact that she still supported the current regime despite her beliefs that Furiosa had decided to leave her alone. Now she had somehow found out about the Dag's child and had been aggressively preaching her interpretation of the news to everyone.

However the interrupting words of the War Boy immediately registered in Furiosa's mind and tore her thoughts away from the irritating girl.

"Flares?" Furiosa asked.

"Yeah," the War Boy replied. "Corpus was on the telescope and he said they've already got a warparty going."

"Do we help them?" Cheedo asked uncertainly. She obviously didn't like the idea of being involved in a war.

"We have to," Toast said. "We still have all of our agreements with them. If they're asking for reinforcements we have to send something."

"The War Boys keep looking like they want a fight," Capable then included. "We have the ammunition and fuel for it and they've been getting restless since we stopped them from hunting other Wastelanders."

"Get the Gigahorse ready," Furiosa suddenly commanded, "and as much of the armada as possible." The War Boy saluted and ran out of the room.

The Sisters all looked at Furiosa. None of them liked the decision she had made. They weren't naive enough to believe there wouldn't be any more war, any more killing, but they had hoped it wouldn't be so soon. There were already so many problems and a war would only make building the new world they wanted that much harder.

"You're in charge while I'm away," she said to them. She didn't expect any of the other women wanted to go to fight again. She saw Toast nod to her, with the other Sisters all thinking over what she had just told them.

"I'm going with you," Capable suddenly said, standing up from the table.

"Me too," Cheedo added. "The War Boys will need looking after." The youngest of the Sisters had already taken it upon herself to help look after the people of the Citadel and help them in whatever way she could. It was obvious she intended to treat the War Boys the same way.

Furiosa nodded in response. She knew she wouldn't be able to deter them. However she also knew they were in more danger than ever before. Whatever opponents they were going against wouldn't be holding back for their sake like Immortan Joe had. This time they would be in actual danger.

Already pondering the best place to put her new entourage, Furiosa walked out of the room, Capable and Cheedo behind her.

Her side still ached under the bandages that had been wrapped over it and the area above her left eye was swollen slightly but she could ride easily enough. She knew both Ellie and the Organic Mechanic would advise sitting the coming war out but she couldn't. Her position was much more tenuous than she thought it would be by this point. She needed to cement her status and worst thing she could do at this point was refuse to go to war.

Her false arm had been recovered and fixed, as had the straps that fixed it to her body. She had two good hands. She could drive.

The War Boys had already begun to pick up the news of the attack. There was an energy that now permeated the Citadel, a bizarre enthusiasm that was noticeable to everyone. War Boys and War Pups alike were running back and forth, gathering equipment and excitedly giving out orders to one another. Wretched hustled away from the activity, most of them scared.

However there were others that were just as excited with the coming battle as the War Boys. Nell's sect was growing and as her words became more popular, so did her thoughts.

Furiosa strode through the Chaos, the War Boys respectfully parting to make way for her and the Sisters behind her.

Cheedo appeared somewhat nervous but walked with enough confidence. She was still slightly scared of the War Boys, their savagery was what had helped kill the world and their painted faces had been in her nightmares before and after the chase down the Fury Road.

Capable, long since used to the War Boys, was much calmer. However she seemed rather upset by the War Boy's joy at the prospect of battle. Too many of them still relished death for her liking. Her hard work had yet to bear fruit amongst the War Boys and to her, the coming war was too soon.

All three women soon stood in front of the Gigahorse. The immense vehicle had long since been refuelled, cleaned and given simple maintenance to fix the minor damage it had sustained during the Chase.

Furiosa glared up at the grotesque hybrid. she had claimed the car for herself but she would never deny that she hated it. It was still the Immortan's car, his skull and gear symbol still covered it. However it was the flagship of the armada and the most powerful vehicle in it. Twin, interlocked V8 engines gave it the horsepower of a war rig and its size gave it the weight to push aside one as well.

Putting her foot on the ladder in the side, Furiosa pulled herself into her new car. She turned and helped Cheedo and Capable climb in as well. Two older War Boys, her new Prime Imperators clambered onto the back as well. She waited as the Blackthumbs went over the last few small modifications and checked and then indicated that everything was ready.

Furiosa flipped the kill switches and gunned the engine. The massive car rolled forward onto the elevator and came to a halt. Other vehicles were already being lowered to the ground as quickly as the winches could take them.

A loud clicking sound prefixed the sudden lowering of the platform her car was now parked on. She waited patiently as the lift was slowly lowered down to the ground.

The pounding sounds of war drums and the loud chords of an electric guitar indicated that the Doofwagon was finally being brought down as well. Furiosa had been surprised when the War Boys brought back the damaged rig and the various assortments of parts that had once been its sound system. The Blackthumbs and other mechanics had worked hard to restore it to what it once was.

Coma, the Doof Warrior had managed to make himself scarce just before his chariot had crashed into the War Rig days ago. Apparently his guitar had been damaged in a fight with the Fool, the man Toast had said was called Max. Now, with new strings and some repairs made, the Doof Warrior was once again perched atop his platform, excitedly playing the songs of war.

It took time but the Citadel Armada was finally arrayed at the bottom of the mesas. Ten cars, three trucks - two of which were equipped with flamers - the Doofwagon, the Salvage Rig and, of course the Gigahorse. War Boys crawled all over the vehicles, already working themselves into a frenzy. Furiosa had refused to bring the entirety of the Citadel's warriors, deciding to leave some defenders to keep her people safe.

Frowning at the thought of already having to defend her new holdings, she gunned the engine, sending the Gigahorse rocketing forward. She heard shouts from her Prime Imperators ordering the rest of the warparty to move forward. The Doofwagon changed its tune and the sound of cheers and whoops became even louder, drowning out even the roaring of the numerous engines.

"It's actually happening," Cheedo said from behind Furiosa. She was no longer nervous. Now she was frowning, a bizarre mixture of fear and frustration on her face.

"It was always going to happen," Capable added with a resigned tone.

"I guess some things are never going to change." Cheedo then said, her frown taking on a melancholy appearance.

"No unnecessary killing," Capable said as she looked away, peering out of the windshield at the Wasteland in front of them. "We can still live by that."

Furiosa remained silent throughout the conversation, focusing on her driving and the dust cloud that the Gastown warparty was leaving in its wake. She had spent most of her life in the Wasteland, a lot of it in the very Armada she was now leading. She wanted to live by Angharad's words. She just wasn't sure whether she could.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: The More Things Change the More They Stay the Same**

Jeet sat forward in his warchariot. His own personal vehicle was a customized monster, a converted six-wheeler rig axle he had fused a flat-bed truck's chassis to. A prized V8 engine had then been stuffed into it and supercharged until it could move the massive vehicle as quickly as any war truck. The back had been covered in the roof of a buggie and outfitted with a semi-automatic machine gun and a customized thunder-poon. His mechanics had spent months gathering the parts and cobbling the mighty warmachine together.

His wounds were aggravated again, the horrific patch of burns and inflamed infections that ran up half of his body searing him with pain. Even after they had found a man with knowledge of medicine, the worthless shit hadn't been able to do anything for him except tell him to keep it clean, something he had learnt by himself long ago.

"C'mon step on it," he snapped angrily to his driver. The man shot him an annoyed look and then stepped on the accelerator, forcing the massive vehicle forward a little faster.

He had spent years building up his warparty. It, by itself, may not have been anything that could truly rival the Triumvirate's forces. However with the supposed defeat they had recently suffered, the death of all of their old leaders and his new deals with certain factions, he was sure that now was the time to strike. Since the news had first reached him, he had spent days warning his new allies to prepare to move.

Now he and his men were racing for the Jaw. If he was able to take it and secure it, everything to the south would be his. He'd finally have his own guzzoline supply and control over the easy access into the southern territories.

Behind his chariot came his warparty. He had spent every year since Scrotus' unlamented death building it up. It was now twenty five vehicles strong, counting the two that had gone out to shred a scout and hadn't returned. He also had another dozen assault bikes to his name and a few hauler trucks he had packed with ammunition, extra weapons and supplies. Most of his vehicles were equipped with boarder-spikes, perfect for deterring Gastown's polecats.

He had also recruited about seven thrall rustler vehicles, offering them a simple choice, fight for him or die for stealing his men. The last few remains of Gutgash's Sea Dogs, desperate not to abandon their long dead leader's ship, had also thrown their twelve car strong armada in with him as well.

This was the largest army he had ever commanded and he was more than prepared to face whatever Gastown could spew forth from its guzz soaked depths. All he had to do was make sure they reached the Jaw in time.

* * *

Jost heard the Citadel's warparty before he saw it. The dustcloud they kicked up had been visible for some time as had a few glints of metal but the hazy silhouette of the Imperator's armada was properly preceded by the loud and righteous chords of war.

Even as his own forces sped to the Jaw, he could see the Citadel warparty catching up. He was amazed at their speed, their ability to mobilise and catch any foe with ease. It was almost unnatural.

By the time the towers and spike covered walls of the Jaw came into view the Citadel was practically on top of them. The first of their bikes and cars reached the rear of the Gaston warparty, the Gigahorse in the lead.

In a matter of minutes, the War Boys were amongst them. The Doofwagon's songs blared loud and angry through the armada, whipping War Boy and goon alike into a violent frenzy. The Gigahorse rushed forward, weaving between other vehicles until the massive car was beside Jost's rig.

The Jaw was close, the armada bunching up closer together as they prepared to pass through the narrow fortified portal.

Jost stood in his seat and pulled back the lid of the roof, pulling himself out into the open air. The wind whipped at his face and hair, pulling at his skin and watering his eyes.

"Imperator!" Jost shouted to the Gigahorse, raising a hand in greeting.

He saw Furiosa glance at him with a frown and then give what he could barely call a nod before returning to the wheel. Jost struggled to hold back a sneer of derision in response.

"What's goin' on?" one of the men on the back of the Gigahorse shouted to him.

"My scouts have said that Jeet's moving up from down south," Jost shouted back, a hand on his forehead to keep his hair from his eyes. "We've got a full warparty coming up north."

"Right," the other man replied with a salute. His companion seemed to have stuck his head into the Gigahorse, no doubt relaying what Jost had told the two of them.

"Boss," a goon atop the rig's tanker shouted. "We've got yellow flares. Bullet Farm's coming down from up north."

Jost frowned. This was really happening now. He was really going to war. He lowered himself back down into the rig and pulled the lid shut.

The warparty pulled closer together as they passed through the Jaw. Jost felt the rig lower into the gulley that ran between the fortified concrete posts of the Jaw's gate. He took a deep breathe and let it out again. This was the point of no return. He was going to war.

The Warparty filed through the gateway, the goons atop the passageway saluting them and hollering warcries. the goons and War boys replied in kind, riling one another up as the battle grew closer.

Once they were through the gateway, the warparty spread out again. However the land beyond the Jaw was far more broken, forcing the warriors to keep close.

Ahead of them, they saw a dust cloud, a tell-tale sign of a large convoy.

"That them?" the goon next to him asked.

"Only thing it could be," Jost replied. "Either that or our boys running away from them. Either way head in their direction and get weapons out."

The goon nodded and grabbed the horn chain, pulling it. A loud sonorous noise erupted from the rig. Goons and War Boys alike cheered in excitement at the call of the war-horn.

"Fang it," someone atop the back of the rig shouted. Others took up the call and soon half the warparty was screaming. Other war cries soon joined the enthusiastic call until they threatened to drown out the Doofwagon's wagon, prompting the Doof Warrior and his drummers to play even louder.

Soon the warparty was surrounded by a raucous cacophony of noise, announcing to all that they were going to war.

Jost struggled not to visibly breath heavier. His heart was pounding in his chest. A part of him was answering the calls to war around him, getting his blood to pump hotter and faster in anticipation for violence and the possibility of Valhalla. However another part of him was scared. He had never been in battle before, never even got closer to a fight than the official boxes that overlooked the Thunderdome. Now he would be in the thick of it and, if his enemies were smart, a prime target. He was sat in an enormous rig, Gastown's colours painted on it and a huge tanker of very flammable guzzoline hooked to the back. He couldn't be anywhere more dangerous.

* * *

Furiosa focused on her driving, her eyes on the road in front of her and her ears open for reports from the Imperators perched atop the back of her car. _Her car_ , the very thought of referring to the flamboyant vehicle she was sat within as her own felt strange.

With the War Rig still being repaired, the Gigahorse had been the only appropriately powerful vehicle available for her. in a way she also knew that her driving the former Immortan's chariot had been expected of her. The ridiculous contraption was a sign of leadership and if she were to solidify her rule, she would have to make some compromises and accept some of Immortan Joe's symbols of dominance and rule.

Gastown's war-horn sounded once again, drowning out the loud war-cries of the rest of the warparty for a split second.

She could see the large dust cloud that was moving their way. After so many years living and fighting in the Wasteland, she could tell the general size of a warparty by the amount of dust they kicked up in their wake. Jeet's armada was smaller than their but it was bigger than anything he had been able to raise before.

"This is it," she shouted back to Capable and Cheedo. The two younger woman had remained quiet throughout the entire journey. She hadn't really turned around to look at them, instead deciding it was wiser to keep her eyes on the road, but she could feel the concern coming from them. They had done this before but they had not lived it for most of their lives like the rest of the warparty.

She risked a glance at the Gastown war rig rumbling by their side. She hadn't bothered to answer Jost's call to exchange words. Unlike him she was actually going to lead her warparty. She needed to keep her eyes on the wheel and the road. One misstep could cost her her life, Cheedo's life, Capable's life and possibly the warparty. she didn't dare imagine what could happen at the Citadel if she fell. Everything seemed so muddier now, less clear and much more dangerous.

Being an Imperator was easy, a Road Warrior, easier. Now she was a warlord. She couldn't afford to be weak.

This was her first test now. Losing here could cost her everything. Succeeding, however, could reinforce their entire future.

Furiosa gunned the engine, placing herself in front of the Gastown rig and at the head of the party. The familiar warcries and the playing of Coma the Doof Warrior filled her ears, reminding her of how she had the countless battles before this one.

She swore that she was going to win.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Glorious Battle:**

The noise of battle preceded the coming conflict long before the armadas even spotted one another. The loud noise of engines, warcries and battlemusic echoed over the wasteland, informing the few scavengers, scouts and ferals not associated with the two warring parties that war was coming.

Jost sat forward in his seat, his eyes on the horizon. He was waiting for the first sign of an enemy vehicle, waiting for the first shots to fly. He fingered his handgun, running his hand over the grip of the handle. He wondered if his father had really used the weapon often. he had checked the gun's ammunition after he had recovered it and seen his father had fired at least one shot but that could have been for anything. He had pretty much concluded the People Eater had likely only fired a shot off to kill one of his own goons.

He stared straight ahead. In front of him was the winding road that led down to the southern oilfields. Despite Gastown claiming the area, setting up their camps and regularly slitting anyone they came across on their patrol routes, the territory was regularly contested with the few other gangs of Wasteland scum that dared to huddle together to oppose the might of the Triumvirate.

Back in the days when Scabrous Scrotus had led Gastown's warparty to war, the enemy gangs of the south had been pushed almost to the breaking point and it had in fact looked like Gastown would rise to supremacy not just in the south but in the entire Triumvirate territory. Of course in the four years since Scrotus' largely unlamented demise, the gangs had bounced back. Now Jeet was finally making his move.

Along the road in front of them, the black shape of enemy vehicles could be seen. A large dust cloud was kicked up behind them, revealing their size. This was a large warparty, bigger than anything the southern scum had ever mustered before.

Jost looked to his side and saw the Gigahorse was still beside them. Pulling back the lid of the cabin hatch, he hauled himself onto the Rig's roof and shouted over to the new Prime Imperator's atop the back of the Gigahorse.

"Oi!" he called, catching the attention of one of the Imperators. "We've got an incline coming up. We can get ambushers up there. Better we take the advantage before they do."

He took some satisfaction in seeing the older man rap his fist on the rear hatch of the Gigahorse and repeat what he had said to the woman inside. A moment later he was turning about and shouting into the mass of vehicles behind them, pointing at cars and signalling with his hands and raised fists.

Jost watched as several Citadel and Gastown cars and trucks peeled off from the Warparty and sped off in both directions, climbing the salt hills and disappearing behind several of the large rock formations.

Lowering himself back down into his seat, Jost turned to the driver. "Hang back. I don't want us getting to far into the thick of it." The driver nodded and switched gears. The Gastown Rig slowed, letting the Gigahorse and several other lead vehicles overtake them. Once the rig was running alongside the Doofwagon, the driver switched gears again and returned to concentrating on steering.

"And here we go," Daisy said behind him in heavy voice.

Jost didn't reply, he simply nodded and frowned.

* * *

Furiosa shifted gears and pressed down on the accelerator, pushing the Gigahorse even faster. She sped forward, outpacing every other vehicle in the armada. She saw the Gastown rig fall back to join the rearguard whilst the flanking forces disappeared behind the various inclines and saltspires that surrounded the road.

She could see the enemy warparty now. The dust cloud had thinned to reveal a great number of war-cars and trucks, bristling with spikes, guns and boarders. Most of the men seemed to be armed with explosives and firearms, a clear indication that this attack had not just been planned in the last few days. This invasion had been intended for a very long time.

Furrowing her brow, Furiosa gripped the wheel tighter and leaned forward. The shapes of the enemy were no longer indistinct. Now they were practically right in front of her.

A car, its sides reinforced with sheet metal and the front grill covered by some kind of bone lattice structure, was right in front of her. Pressing down on the accelerator harder, Furiosa braced herself and drove at it.

The Gigahorse rocketed forward as the massive turbo-boosters vented flame. The immense vehicle shot straight towards a smaller car. Furiosa grit her teeth and tightened her grip even more as she closed in on the panicking enemy.

The Gigahorse struck the enemy vehicle with a jolt, forcing Furiosa forward as her momentum struck the enemy's. She heard the girls behind her shriek in surprise and felt the crash of reinforced metal impacting at great speed. the car in front of her quickly buckled and was thrust to the side, the lancers clinging to it sent flying as they lost their grips on the car body. The vehicle span on its axle and tipped over with a great crash, sending loose pieces of debris flying as it shuddered to a halt. Even before it was done moving, Furiosa had passed it.

The next car was smart enough to get out of her way. After that, with another approaching, the accelerator had switched off and the Gigahorse had slowed down again.

The Gigahorse crashed into its next target with much less momentum. However the enormous car's mass still managed to force the other vehicle out of the way, sending it spinning out of control. By this point Furiosa saw most of the enemy column was moving out of her way. She turned to veer off of the road to find a way she could turn back and around and re-enter the battle.

The sound of explosions told her that the rest of the armada had caught up with her. Already the familiar sound of thunder-sticks and semi-automatics going off could be heard as well as the exultant screams of War-boys as they killed and died in equal measure.

Furiosa shifted gears once again and spun the Gigahorse around. She had completely exited the back of Jeet's armada and now had to manoeuvre herself so that she could face them once again.

The Gigahorse turned in a wide arc, crossing from one end of the road to the next as it ate up the space it had to manoeuvre in. Soon it was facing the back of Jeet's armada.

In front of her was total anarchy. The tight space of the road had made it difficult for both sides to spread their forces out properly and so the two tightly packed columns had struck each other with their full force. Already the Gastowners and Jeet's men, both of whom were more experienced in the terrain, had peeled off to find more advantageous positions to fight. Cars and trucks sped off into the surrounding dunes and escarpments, warriors jeering and hollering from their vehicles.

Furiosa took a second to try to find the lead vehicle. scavenger scum like Jeet's men always relied on their leaders to stay in a fight. Unlike the War Boys who would stay and fight against whomever killed their imperators, the Wastelanders would quickly scatter if their own warlords fell.

That's when she caught a glimpse of a massive rig in the midst of the melee, It wasn't one of theirs, it was a ramshackle monstrosity built out of a variety of different parts. Explosive tipped bolts shot out of the thunderpoon launcher fixed to the back of its turret like cabin whilst it's likely armoured front pushed aside any smaller vehicles foolish enough to get in its way.

Keeping an even expression on her face, Furiosa glared at the vehicle. It was clearly Jeet's if the very large tribal symbols painted on it were any indication.

Pressing down on the accelerator again, she gunned the engine and shot back into the fray.

* * *

The battle had begun chaotically and had only descended into further anarchy with time. Furiosa's initial charge had seen her smash her way straight through Jeet's column but many of the other vehicles in the vanguard had not been so lucky.

Jeet had ordered his men to batter their way through the opposition and so they had charged right into the Triumvirate warparties with reckless abandon.

The first few cars to actually hit one another collided with deafening crashes. Men clinging to sides of their rides were sent flying as the momentum carried them forward, many of them hitting the ground with enough force to break bones and rupture organs. The first combatants were flung to the side, some of them exploding as volatile ammunition detonated from sparks generated by the impact.

The road was immediately blocked by the wreckages of the vanguard but that didn't matter.

Jeet's chariot came immediately afterward, pushing aside the ruined vehicles and injured men in front of him without a care. Behind him came his war party who fired explosive tipped shots and semi-automatic fire at whoever was closest to their own rides.

Fire blossomed as Jeet's mob laid into the Triumvirate's forces. War Boys and goons responded in kind, slinging thunder-sticks and grenades at their foe with wild cries. Gastown flamers rode to the front, igniting their weapons and running alongside the Wastelanders. Soon the southerner cars were being set alight by the goons.

However, despite the hail of fire that was being sent at them, Jeet's war party still kept on going, ramming straight through the Triumvirate forces with their leader's chariot at the tip of the wedge.

Bikers and smaller vehicles that were unfortunate enough to end up in Jeet's path were either forced to swerve or were immediately pushed aside, some of them flipping over from the force of impact. The tight confines of the road made maneuvering almost impossible and every driver the moved to get out of the way of the Wastelander juggernaut struggled not to careen into another vehicle.

In a few hectic minutes Jeet's men had smashed their way through the centre of the Triumvirate war parties and were about to exit through the back. From there they would join up with their flanking forces and get to the Jaw.

All they had to do was get past the last of the Triumvirate's forces.

* * *

"Move!" Jost shouted as he saw Jeet's immense rig bear down on them.

The driver turned the wheel in a panic and just managed to guide the rig and its tanker out of the way of Jeet's way. His heart almost stopped as he saw a Wastelander warrior move to aim a thunderpoon launcher at his vehicle.

Thankfully before the enemy gunner could fire a crossbow bolt embedded itself in his face. The injured man flailed about for several seconds before he fell off the back of the rig and hit the ground. Jost tried to imagine what was probably a satisfying crunch as he watched the man collapse and reminded himself to reward whatever goon had managed to hit him.

Sheets of fire cascaded down from atop his rig as the rest of the enemy war party passed them by. The flamers atop his tanker were eager to set the enemy alight and he heard their whoops of delight even over the noise of the battlefield.

Jost was shocked about how quickly the battle had descended into chaos. Every spark and flame had made his heart beat faster as he thought about how truly vulnerable his rig really was.

He sent out silent prayers, to God, Vishnu, Buddha, the Cleansing Flame, the Holy V8 and whatever other deity he had ever heard or read about to see him safely through the battle as he kept an eye out on the anarchy around him.

It took him a few seconds of tense observation for him to realise that the Wastelander war party had mostly passed them by. His rig had been in the rearguard and yet he could see few enemy vehicles in front of them anymore. More surprisingly the Gigahorse was now the vehicle charging towards them. It appeared that Furiosa wasn't out of the fight yet though she had been strangely absent after she had sped in front of them.

"Bring us around," he said to the driver. "You," he then said turning around and pointing to one of the goons flanking a now very nervous Daisy, "get on top and get as many of our lads to about face and chase that scum down."

The goon nodded and pulled back the lid of the rig's roof. He clambered through and began to shout. Jost wasn't sure if the men around them were actually hearing the man or had simply realised there were no more enemies in front of them but they were starting to turn around.

The bikes and smaller cars and trucks were the first to spin about and take off after the Gigahorse. Once again Furiosa led the charge to meet the enemy.

Jost waited as his much more unwieldy ride went off the road and began to navigate around the embankments and salt buttresses. It took an uncomfortably long time but soon the rig was able to turn about and get back on the road. The Doofwagon, which was equally unsteady on rough terrain, and several other cars that had decided to hang back and look after Gastown's leader were coming alongside him.

Reforming, the new rearguard realigned themselves and accelerated back down the road, rushing to catch up with the battle that had escaped them.

* * *

Furiosa was struggling not to snarl with rage. Her usual stoicism was still present on her face but underneath she was burning with frustration and anger. Thanks to the Gastowners she and her forces had been forced onto a terrible battlefield and she had managed to humiliate herself by getting knocked off the battlefield so quickly. She had charged into the enemy war party, passed straight through and let the rest of them slip by.

A few quick glances to her left and right let her know that several other vehicles had finally caught up with her.

Now that the enemy were in front of them and heading away from their position, the battle was going to be a lot more difficult. This was going to become a chase and Jeet had the advantage despite his losses.

A thud let her know that someone had opened the back hatch of the Gigahorse and she heard the Prime Imperators yell something at her that she couldn't hear.

"Furiosa," Cheedo said, nudging her shoulder as she leaned forward. "they say there's another war party coming from off the side. They aren't any of ours either."

Furiosa quickly checked both of the windows on either side of her and saw several vehicles flying Jeet's colours coming off of the salt flats on either side fo the road and joining up with the main column. Furiosa struggled not to curse. Jeet had divided his forces and snuck several of them around their war party. His insane charge had distracted them completely and now his force, which had already been formidable, had almost doubled.

"They're telling us we've got flares going off," Capable suddenly said, also pulling herself forward.

Furiosa stole a quick look at the red-headed woman. "Where from," she quickly asked, turning her eyes back to the road.

"Off the side of the road," Capable replied. "The imperators say it's Gastown's colours."

"That's our flanking force then," Furiosa replied, feeling some relief for the news.

The vehicles that had been ordered to go off road where swerving back on in two separate columns. Amongst them were several flamers that were already starting to spurt fire and the War Party's Polecats that were swinging slowly.

Jeet's men responded to the flamers with a hail of bolts and bullets. One Gastown truck span off course as the driver took a bullet to the jaw, sending a sheet of uncontrolled fire in a wide arc that toasted one of Jeet's cars and almost took out the Polecat behind it.

Another Polecat on the other side of the road came in close to Jeet's rig. The pole was swung back far and then pulled forward, the goon on top readying a grenade. Speeding slightly ahead of the enemy rig, the Polecat came down low and chucked the grenade at Jeet's engine block. A ball of fire burst out as the explosive detonated but the rig kept on going. The Polecat pulled back, readying for another strike only for several of Jeet's bikes to start harassing it.

The flankers weren't causing that much damage to Jeet's men and were already being overpowered but they had done their job.

Furiosa grit her teeth as the Gigahorse caught up with the closest of Jeet's rearguard. A explosive crossbow bolt shot out from above her as one of her prime imperators took a shot at the rear wheel of the smaller car. The Gigahorse slammed into the back of its prey, the weight of the massive hybrid sending the car into a sudden swerve. A second hit knocked the unbalanced vehicle over, sending its rear end up into the sky until it finally twisted over and fell with a loud crash. Not caring, Furiosa gunned the Gigahorse again, smashing aside the wreckage and anyone still inside.

* * *

Jeet was, in a word, annoyed. He had already let out a long loud stream of curses and complaints to his driver and now he was simply shouting out orders to his men as he tried to think of a way of getting the Triumvirate's forces off his back.

"Get the damn Sea Dogs and Rustlers to the back," he shouted to his signaller as he formulated his revised strategy. "We can afford to lose them bastards."

The small man who served as his force's coordinator nodded, put a horn to his lip and pointed it through a hole in the rig's wall. He then spent several seconds letting out a series of short but loud notes.

"Great," Jeet snapped at the man. "Now get all my boys up front with me. We're taking that Jaw now." He could see the winding road was coming to an end. Soon it would be a straight line north right up to the vital gateway.

Several more sharp notes followed his new order, telling him that the signaller had been smart enough to realise that what he had said wasn't a comment or a suggestion.

An explosion rocked his rig and the entire vehicle shuddered and tilted to the right. He looked out of the window and saw one the damned Polecats swinging back away from his chariot.

"Will some get that goddamn cat off of my back!" he shouted to the men in the back of the rig.

"We lost some of the wheels on the back boss," a man shouted from the rear where the rest of his top men were gathered.

Jeet roared in anger and tightly gripped the skin of his face, ignoring the flare of pain as he clawed at his burns and blisters. "Kill the fucking cat!" he shouted again. Glaring at his men as one of them grabbed a crossbow from a rack and clambered for an access hatch.

"Uh boss," the voice of the driver suddenly interrupted Jeet. "We got flares."

Jeet rounded on the hapless man and glared at him again. The man cowered slightly at his deranged and disfigured and leader and meekly pointed out through the windscreen. Jeet immediately turned to look and saw a blot of bright yellow colour in the sky.

"Ah fuck me," Jeet mumbled as he realised what the flare meant. "We got farmers."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: A Fiery Harvest:**

The Bullet Farm's armada had sped out of the gates as soon as the flare had been spotted. The lead-reapers of the Bullet Farm prided themselves on being ready to ride out and kill at a moment's notice and the sudden call to arms had tested their boasts.

Still it had taken a long time for the farmer fleet to even get close to the battlefield and that fact had turned Big Stack's irritating frustration into a burning rage.

Her trigger finger itched as she ran it along the grip of her semi-automatic and the frown on her face deepened with every passing minute. Sighing, she leaned a little further forward in her seat and once again silently cursed her decision to take the tank to battle.

Angel's Embrace, her own personal chariot, was a repurposed main-battle tank that had been recovered from a ruined base built in the Before Time and reworked slightly to make it faster and stronger. It had belonged to another Farm lieutenant that had taken it into battle many times and had won much glory with it. It had been hers for over five thousand days and she had spent as many of them as possible making sure it was kept at total perfection. A few of them men had dared to question her when she had christened it. A few rounds in the fighting pits had later dissuaded any more jabs at her choice of chariot.

Never before had such a perfect vehicle of the blessed Angel been built. She didn't like to boast but she had thought her chariot outstripped even the Peacemaker.

Unfortunately the mighty juggernaut was also incredibly slow. It had taken far too long for her forces to make it south to the battlefield. With every passing minute Big Stack's mood had become worse.

"Sir," a voice called to her from outside the access hatch of the tank's turret. "We're moving past the Jaw now." the dip of the tank's chassis immediately told her that they had made their way through the subsidence that the gate was built around.

"Good," Big Stack replied. "Get all of our boys ready. We'll be getting close now."

"Yes sir," the lead-reaper replied before climbing back out and shutting the hatch.

"Sweet Angel Combustion guide my eye and arm in this coming battle," Big Stack intoned quietly, shutting her eyes and holding her gun in reverence. "May you bestow your gifts of fire and powder upon me so that I may smite the unbeliever and honour your holy name." Finishing the prayer, she kissed her weapon and sat back.

It was times like this that made her wish she actually had ammunition for the Angel's Embrace. Even after five years of work the powdersmiths were still struggling to make proper replicas of the antique shells they had recovered. Not even the sainted Major Kalashnikov had dared to waste even one of the five working artillery shells they had available to them.

"Sir," the lead-reaper called through the access hatch, "We've got engines and gunfire in the distance."

"Obviously them," Big Stack muttered to herself. "Alright. Get the lads ready to fight. We're going to battle. Let's show these Wastelander scum what happens when they face bullet farmers."

"Yes sir," the lead-reaper replied with a hint of excitement in his voice. Like any good bullet farmer the man revelled in the possibility of battle. She could feel the energy, the rush of adrenaline. The blessed Angel Combustion was giving them strength so that they could defeat the apostates that would dare to use her gifts against the righteous.

Tired of waiting in the dark of her chariot's interior, Big Stack clambered up after the lead-reaper, squeezing her armoured frame through the access hatch. The ammunition belts she began to wear when she took the Major's place now covered her arms and torso completely and she even wore a skirt of belts that, when strapped together, reached down to her knees. On her head was a thick helmet, another artefact salvaged from the Before Time but it too had another belt draped over the top like a wig or a crown. Attached to the helmet was a pair of goggles on a pivot. They were currently raised.

The outfit was uncomfortably heavy but she bore the weight. It was symbolic of her new position. She was the Bullet Farmer and she needed to both look and act the part. On top of that the armour the belts provided her made her about as invincible as she now felt.

Finally exposing herself to the dry air of the Wasteland, she looked about her mighty armada. Despite its slow speed, the Angel's Embrace was at the fore, leading the Farm's armed forces to battle. Alongside it were two other tanks. One was the exact same model, its armoured tracks kicking up dust as they roll over the rocky surface of the Wasteland. The other was smaller, much swifter and rumbled along on six massive wheels.

Behind these three behemoths come an assortment of cars, each one manned by excited lead-reapers. Though they lacked the loud encouragement of the Citadel's Doofwagon, the bullet farmers did a good job whipping themselves into a battle frenzy nonetheless with cries of joy and rage, the egging of one another on to displays of violence and, of course, loud and righteous prayers to the Angel Combustion.

Together, the armada numbered about nineteen vehicles, including the tanks and was backed up by a squadron of eleven assault bikes. A formidable assemblage of warriors and machines that would be the scourge and the envy of any other warlord.

Big Stack looked away from her army and out in front of her. They were past the Jaw and in the wild region of the Southern Wasteland. Here the more gentle flatlands gave way to a treacherous land of bluffs, cliffs and natural buttresses. Any armada that came through here either had to bunch together to spread out, either option leaving it vulnerable.

Still she was glad she wouldn't have to go that far into it. She could already see the dust of battle and hear the distant sounds of explosions, engines and the crashing of metal.

Grinning like a child, Big Stack reached into the access hatch of her tank and fumbled for the microphone of the sound system she had installed into the Angel's Embrace. Switching it on, she turned back towards her lead-reapers.

"Battle and the Angel await us brothers!" She shouted into the microphone, her amplified voice reaching over the sounds of the other vehicles. "To war!"

The entire armada cheered, those who hadn't heard her joining in regardless.

Painfully slowly the armada approached the battle. It was after the Angel's Embrace rounded another small buttress that she finally saw the enemy. A large rig was bearing down on her, other vehicles behind it. Some flew the colours of Gastown and the Citadel while others were battling them. The rig stood at the centre of the embattled formation, fire billowing from a wound in its side as a Gastown Polecat harassed it.

"This is it," she muttered to herself. "This is the time."

She reached back into the hatch, putting her firearm on her lap, and pulled out a small tube with a round tipped device sticking out of it. It was a war-rocket, a propelled explosive device of the Bullet Farm's making. Whilst not that accurate it was one of the most powerful weapons in the Triumvirate's arsenal.

She steadied the rocket on the turret's top, adjusting every now and then to make up for her chariot's rocking. She aimed at the rig, even as it rumbled towards her.

"Sweet Angel guide my arm so that my offering to you may find its mark in the flesh of the unworthy," she said as she pointed the rocket at the enemy rig's grill. "May your touch by furious and true." She bent down and kissed the casing of the firing tube and then tensed.

With The press of a button, the fuel of the rocket ignited and she felt a great kick into her stomach. The rocket sped out of the tube and shot forward towards the rig. Several tense seconds separated the speeding rocket from the Wastelander vehicle but all too quickly, the explosive connected.

Big Stack whooped for joy and threw her arms into the air as she watched fire blossom underneath one of the rig's wheels. The rocket had crashed into the underside of the engine-block where the left-hand wheel connected to the axle. The rig rocked, flipping up and leaning on its right and then fell over as the engine exploded spectacularly and the damaged wheel fell away in fragments.

The rig ground to a halt, only to be shoved forward as whatever vehicle that had been unfortunate to be right behind it crashed into it.

The road now obstructed by the collision, the two battling war-parties swerved to a halt. The Triumvirate's forces now had the advantage.

The situation now very different, Big Stack grabbed the microphone once again and began issuing orders.

"Back 'em in and pick 'em off," she shouted. "Break out the automatics. We're going reaping." She set the microphone down and picked up her firearm again with a savage grin.

* * *

Furiosa slammed the breaks as she saw the battle come to a halt. The fighting wasn't over by any means but every single vehicle had been stopped. She could see fire at the front of the warring convoy and heard the sounds of gunfire.

"I need you to stay down," she said to the girls in the back. "This is going to get nasty."

She picked up a handgun that had been hidden under the seat, another one of the former Immortan's beautiful silver revolvers, and handed it to Capable.

"Take this," she said to the red-headed girl.

"I… I ca," Capable stammered, looking in both fear and disgust at the weapon.

"Take this," Furiosa insisted, her voice growing stern. She risked a glance back at the battlefield in front of her and saw that warriors on both sides had disembarked and engaged one another in combat. She could hear the music of the Doofwagon behind them, announcing the return of their rear-guard.

Capable hesitated for another moment and then reluctantly took the proffered weapon. She held it awkwardly and uncomfortably but the idea of her now being armed and capable of defending herself soothed Furiosa's worries. She turned to see that Cheedo had grabbed a crossbow from somewhere in the back. The much younger girl looked even more terrified, her fingers pale as she clutched the crossbow close to her body but she gave a determined nod when Furiosa looked at her.

"Right," Furiosa said. "We're going in!" she shouted to the Imperators behind them, thumping the ceiling once for good measure.

Gingerly, she drove the Gigahorse forward, picking her way carefully into the fray. Despite the immense car's size it was surprisingly nimble and smooth. As they manoeuvred around wreckage and parked cars, the Imperators picked off Jeet's men with rifles.

"Ma'am," one of the Imperators shouted from behind her. "We've got our backup comin' in hot."

"Tell them to slow down," Furiosa shouted back, "and keep the Gastown rig at the back. I don't want it going up in smoke."

She heard a grunt in affirmative and the shouts from her Imperators as they tried to flag down the rear-guard and get them to keep out of harm's way. The enemy's numbers were thinning as the more numerous and better equipped War Boys, goons and lead-reapers wiped them out.

Already she could see the Triumvirate's soldiers teaming up from areas they had cleared of enemies. They were running off in packs to wherever they could still hear fighting. It wouldn't be much longer now.

* * *

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Jeet cursed over and over as he fired at another bullet farmer that was brave enough to come too close to the smouldering remains of his chariot.

A biker shot towards his position, firing wildly as it approached. Jeet ducked back behind the armour panelling of his ruined rig, raised his hand over it and fired several shots. The sound of the bike's engine didn't stop and neither did the rider's fire. The bike shot past instead and Jeet took a moment to aim his handgun and hit the biker in the back before he could turn around.

Bullet Farm bikers were circling around the pitiful remains of his war party whilst he packs of War Boys, goons and lead-reapers gathering nearby. What had once been a mighty armada was now being torn apart, all because of a lucky shot to his rig.

He had broken something in his chest, he wasn't sure what but it was tearing him up inside. He had numerous bruises and smaller cuts across his body and his ruptured blisters was streaming blood and pus down the right side of his face.

His handgun ran empty and he dropped it, grabbing for a semi-automatic machinegun instead. He didn't bother to aim, simply preferring to fire, roaring in anger as he unleashed a hail of lead at the approaching warriors. His wounds were acting up again, several of the burn blisters having burst from the crash. This only served to fuel his anger and his throat began to turn raw as he continued to scream at the enemy.

He didn't know if any of his men were still alive. All but one of his crew had been totalled in the crash and the last one had broken his leg. He had lasted another minute or so before a bullet farmer capped him as well.

His gun ran dry but Jeet didn't care. He reached for another ammunition clip, dropping the empty one and slotting the replacement into position before getting back to firing into the dust and smoke.

Suddenly the wreck jolted. Jeet wobbled as the remains of his chariot rocked and began to shift. He risked a glance behind him and saw something unbelievable through a rent in the metal. His rig was being pushed by a tank. A fucking tank!

As the wreckage gave way before the armoured behemoth, Jeet found his cover changing angle as well. He was slowly being exposed as the rig tipped and swayed. It probably wouldn't be much longer before the tank stopped pushing and began climbing over his chariot instead. He would be crushed if he stayed where he was but if he went outside he would definitely die.

Jeet clutched his gun tightly as he weighed his options.

His decision was made for him when, with a tortured squeal, the metal of his rig began to give way and the tank began to climb over it.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Jeet cursed over and over as he clambered out of the wreck, his machinegun in his right hand and a bag full of ammunition clips in his left. He immediately ran at the assembly of cars in front of him, firing blindly as he did so.

"There 'e is," he heard a voice shout and soon gunfire was directed at him.

Jeet ran as fast as he could. He planned to reach the wreckages in front of him and find new shelter. However, just as he was about to make it to an overturned car, he felt a crossbow bolt impact his leg. He stumbled and almost fell to the ground. Panicking, he pulled himself back up and tried to limp forwards, every step sending an unbearable flare of pain through his body as his movement jostled the barbed tip of the bolt in his flesh.

He barely made it a few feet before a bullet hit his arm, causing him to drop his weapons. Another round impacted his wounded leg and he finally fell over.

He lay on the ground, breathing hard and clenching his teeth to distract himself from the pain. He tried to pull himself along the ground on his unwounded arm but found he didn't have the strength to do so.

The sounds of battle had died around him and now the only noise was from the victorious warparty's warriors as they prepared to clean up and search for survivors.

The heavy sound of boots echoed in his ears and suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his boat and someone stepped on his back, forcing him to the ground. Jeet turned his head even as it was shoved down into the dirt with the rest of his body. A masked lead-reaper loomed over him, a semi-automatic machine gun in his hand, the barrel hovering over his head.

"Well look what we got 'ere lads," the bullet farmer said with contempt. "Looks like I caught their boss."

More boots joined his and soon Jeet found himself surrounded by armed men. Many of them seemed amused at his plight, several were simply furious. The face of the lead-reaper above him was covered by a mask but Jeet could see a sadistic smile in his exposed eyes.

"What say we slit 'im now and get it over?" the man, who was still pressing down on him, said.

"Leave him!" a voice suddenly echoed, the unnatural, mechanical tint making it obvious it was being broadcasted by a machine.

The lead-reaper backed away with a scowl but not without delivering a kick to Jeet's back, forcing him back onto the ground.

Jeet tried to look up and was able to catch brief glimpses of a large figure covered in metal clambering out of one of the Bullet Farm tanks. A quick glance before he fell down again revealed the armoured figure was a woman, a huge slab of a woman covered in ammunition belts and crowned with one like the old Bullet Farmer.

The roar of an engine and the sound of metal scraping on rock and dirt suddenly came from behind him. Jeet moved his head to see a small car get slowly pushed aside by the enormous shape of the Gigahorse, the bizarre chariot of the Immortan Joe.

The mechanical behemoth slowly rolled up to the front of the battlefield and came to a stop not too far from where Jeet lay.

The armoured woman stopped walking and stood her ground, glaring at the Gigahorse and pulling out a revolver. She opened the chamber, span it and shut it again after a quick examination of its contents, all with a sour expression on her face.

The door opened and out climbed a familiar figure. Imperator Furiosa wasn't unknown to him, practically everyone who was anyone in the Wasteland knew about the infamous Bag of Nails and her metal arm. Now she looked somewhat tired, her face hard but pale and her face unpainted and bare.

Two girls in white also climbed out of the back, perching themselves next to two War Boys on the raised rear end of the Gigahorse. They looked slightly worried, obviously unfamiliar with the ways of the Wasteland.

Bag of Nails Furiosa leapt from the access ladder of the Gigahorse and hit the ground with an audible grunt. She had a similar stern look that mirrored the armoured bullet farmer that was glaring at her.

Furiosa spared a single look at Jeet, glancing at him for a moment before turning back to the other woman again. Jeet had no idea who the farmer bitch was but it was obvious that she and Furiosa disliked one another. He could understand both of their perspectives. He hated them too at this moment.

A deep and sonorous horn was suddenly sounded in the distance before either woman could start talking. It echoed long and loud over the quieting battlefield. Every head in the area turned back down the road to see more wrecks being forced aside by the War Rig that had been left behind earlier in the battle.

Jeet tried to wriggle away as the lead-reapers were distracted but was quickly kicked back down when one of the War Boys noticed him move and cried out.

"Don't even try it smeg," the lead-reaper that kicked him seethed. "Try that again and you get a bullet in yer skull."

"So we finally caught him?" A new voice said.

Jeet heard several sets of feet walking towards him from several directions. A boot connected with his side and forced him onto his back. He was now facing the drab red sky, soot reaching high in numerous dark plumes. The armoured woman was standing over him with a contemptuous sneer on her flat, ugly face.

"I can't believe it was this easy to take him down," the woman said, her voice matching the previous one. "Has he really been such a sharp knife in Gastown's side?"

"More like he's just not been worth the effort before now," the rough voice of Furiosa suddenly said as she loomed over him.

"Well let's make sure we never have to bother again then," the other woman said with cold glee. She once again opened the chamber of her revolver, span it and snapped it shut with a quick flick of her wrist.

Jeet opened his mouth to speak, spit at her or do something for their comments but quickly found the bullet farmer woman stepping down on his chest. He struggled to breath as the massive woman's boot pressed down on his ribs.

"Wait!" A new voice, a male one shouted out. Jeet turned his head and saw a new group walking out of the smoke.

Most of them were the familiar black masked elite goons of Gastown, armed with portable flamers and crossbows. However leading them were a bizarrely dressed duo. The leader was a somewhat pudgy young man in a dark suit. Next to him was a reedy woman in a black dress, an open umbrella in her hand and her sleeve over her nose and mouth. It was, by their appearance, obvious that they were Gastown big wigs. No other people would dress like they had.

"We got him," the man said with a sick grin. "We finally got him. He's finished this time. Finished." He pulled a handgun out of a pocket inside his suit-jacket.

"Hold up," the farmer woman shouted, pointing her revolver down at Jeet's head. "I took out his rig and my boys brought him down. He's the Farm's by right."

"Oh no," the Gastowner shot back, glaring at the bullet farmer. "I've been waiting to do this for a very long time."

"Well you can keep waiting," the woman replied, cocking her revolver.

The Gastowner duo walked up to join the two other women now looming over Jeet. The Gastowner woman gave one contemptuous look at the other women and then turned it on him, peering down her nose with a sneer.

"I don't think it matters," the Gastowner woman chipped in before the two could turn their guns on one another. "As long as he gets shot now."

"We can't stay out here," Furiosa also added in, earning a glare from the bullet farmer woman and the Gastowner man. "Do you really want to be exposed in this territory when it gets dark. A scrap heap this big is gonna attract every scavenger in the south."

The Gastowner turned away from all three women and looked down at Jeet. He gave him a thoughtful look, pondering his fate.

"I've got an idea," the Gastowner boss said. "We truss him up and take him with us. We can have him watch as we tear his stronghold down in front of him."

The bullet farmer woman gave a similarly thoughtful expression. "I like that," she then said. "I've got plenty of spare chains and hooks for towing."

"If we're doing this then we need to move," Furiosa said impatiently. "We need to get to high ground and set up camp."

"Fine," the Gastowner responded. He then turned to his group of goons. "You two," he said to the leading pair, "go with the farmers to wrap this guy up." They nodded and then set off to stand beside the lead-reapers.

The farmer woman nodded to the Gastowner and signalled several of her men to get whatever they would need to bind him. She then looked down at Jeet with one last contemptuous smirk, raised her boot and brought it down on him.

* * *

Furiosa watched as the new Bullet Farmer, Big Stack, checked Jeet's body.

"Still alive," she said as she put a finger to the downed man's neck.

Furiosa simply nodded and then walked away from her and Jost, heading back to the Gigahorse. She saw Capable and Cheedo still watching from atop the back of the vehicle with her Prime Imperators.

"What's going on?" Cheedo shouted down to her. Both women were obviously concerned about the aftermath and what it would entail.

"We're heading south," Furiosa shouted back. "I've agreed to end this. We'll be staying out here for the night and laying siege to Jeet's stronghold tomorrow."

Cheedo nodded, understanding and accepting very quickly. Capable on the other hand was watching the Gastowners, a worried look on her face. Cheedo looked at her adoptive sister and then shook her.

"What?" Capable said with a start, finally turning to look at Cheedo. "What's going on?"

"We're staying out here and attacking the rest of these men tomorrow," Cheedo explained to her.

"What about the wounded?" Capable suddenly said as she caught up with what was going on. "And all this wreckage? What do we do with them all?"

"We'll be picking them up before we leave," Furiosa said as she clambered up the ladder up to the driver's seat. She then turned to the Prime Imperators who were standing to attention and watching the battlefield intently.

"We'll need more supplies," Furiosa said to her Prime Imperators. "Send a scout back to the Citadel. Order them to fill up the War Rig and send it to our position. We'll be camped out on a ridge overlooking Jeet's tower."

The Prime Imperator nodded in affirmation and began to climb down from the back of the Gigahorse to organise a detail.

Furiosa climbed into her seat and watched as the rest of the convoy were running around, dealing with post-battle duties. Men were cleaning out bodies, picking up the wounded and sending those of the enemy that still lived to the Bullet Farm's skilled torturers. Other men were picking over the best wreckages and hauling it to the Salvage Rig which had already parked closeby and was waiting to be loaded. Others were taking out chains and hooks and attaching them to their cars, ready to pull the other wrecks with their own vehicles.

The Bullet Farmer was actively issuing orders to her lead-reapers, directing men back and forth. Jost and his wife, on the other hand, had returned to their rig and were sitting in it quite languidly.

Furiosa frowned at the predicament she was now in. Once again she had gone to war and she had been prepared for that. This, however, was a larger conflict than she had expected. She had not known what exactly was going on when the flares had gone up and she didn't like that. Now she had been pulled into an extended campaign, all at the behest of a man she already loathed.

Resisting the urge to put her head in her hands and sigh in exasperation, she settled down. This was going to be an unfortunately long war.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: Cleaning Up The South:**

The wait for supplies from the Citadel forced the Triumvirate armada to wait in their current position. The vehicles had been arrayed in a defensive formation with the war rigs in the centre and dozens of soldiers facing out into the Wasteland, standing guard. Polecats were sitting atop their poles, peering out into the distance as well.

Jost sighed as he watched the men at work. He was sitting in his rig, Daisy in the seat next to him, waiting for the supplies to arrive so they could get moving again. It was already starting to grow dark and some of the soldiers were already beginning to light camp fires. Guzzoline braziers were stabbed into the ground and fed from the fuel reserves in the tanker attached to their rig.

"Shouldn't be much longer," he muttered to himself.

"Let's hope," Daisy mumbled in response.

A loud horn sounded not too far away, drawing the attention of most of the camp. Several of the sentries continued to look out into the Wasteland but most of them also turned to the direction the sound of the horn had come from.

"War Rig!" One of the sentries shouted. "We got the War Rig comin' in."

The horn sounded again as the camp came to life. Jost reached up, pulling back the lid of the rig's roof and climbing out on top.

Headlights heralded the arrival of the Citadel War Rig, accompanied by two bikes and another car. Several smaller vehicles moved out fo the way as the miniscule convoy arrived. The War Rig came to a slow halt within the guard perimeter as its escorts fanned out to find a place to park.

Jost told the goons on the top of his trailer to get him a lantern. He then turned to look at the Gigahorse, seeing that several figures were climbing out of it, the lighter cloth of two of them telling him that some of the former Immortan's wives were amongst the group.

Jost clambered off of his rig, grabbing an oil lantern that was offered to him by one of the goons.

A collection of goons surrounded him and followed as he wandered between vehicles to the war rig. Warboys were already clustered around it along with goons and lead-reapers, all of them talking amongst themselves.

A cursory glance showed that Furiosa and two of the young women from the Citadel were already there. At the back, Big Stack walked forward imposingly with a trio of lead-reapers by her side.

"Alright!" Furiosa suddenly shouted. "We got food and water now. We need to move now. It's getting dark and we're on low ground."

"You heard her!" Big Stack shouted shortly after Furiosa had finished, quickly picking up on what the other woman had said. "Get everything hauled up. We're moving south."

The crowd immediately ran into action, gathering up scattered equipment and junk and packing it away. Lanterns were darkened and sentries slowly left their posts, making sure that plenty of eyes were still looking out into the Wasteland. Engines began to warm up as drivers took their seats.

Jost calmly walked back to his rig, seeing Daisy already sitting alert in her seat.

He nodded to her and she climbed out of the front, settling down in the rear seats again. Jost climbed up into the front just before the rig's driver took his place as well. The rig's engines were revved up and kill switches were flipped.

Slowly the vehicles chosen for the vanguard rolled into position and set off to secure a camping site. As the main body of the convoy organised themselves and the rearguard moved behind the majority of the War Party, Jost waited, looking out into the Wasteland.

Attached to one of the larger trucks was a crane and hanging from the end was the trussed up body of Jeet, his face broken and covered in blood and his body wrapped in chains. Jost glared at the pathetic remains of the man, waiting to make the man watch as they pulled his tower down to the ground.

Finally the main body of the War Party began to move, Jost's rig in the centre of the massive column beside the Citadel War Rig. The Doofwagon was right behind them but Furiosa had ordered Coma to not play, likely to keep more unwanted attention away.

The War Party's journey south was quick and safe, the destruction of Jeet's armada and their allies leaving the Southern Wasteland free of foes. Their way would have been lit by the guzz-pan lanterns of Gastown scarecrows but the war had left them unattended.

Following the road, they finally made it deep into the heart of Jeet's territory, the lights of his stronghold coming into view. Braziers to the west showed where the vanguard had taken position ahead of them. The War Party changed direction, heading towards the camp, the Gigahorse in the lead.

Switching onto rough terrain, the War Party began to climb onto an escarpment that overlooked the ground before Jeet's stronghold.

The vanguard had already established a basic perimeter with crossbow and firearm wielding warboys and lead-reapers set in sentry positions. Braziers were still being set up, fuel being set aside to light them. Other warboys were on the edge of the escarpment, long-lookers trained on the tower in the distance.

The rest of the convoy moved into the perimeter, filling the rough ring set up by the vanguard. The Gastown rig was parked in the centre of the ring, next to the Citadel's War Rig. Shortly after killing the engines, the other goons climbed out of the rig and either stood guard around it or began to see to other duties in the camp. Jost leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his head held up by his hands.

Daisy quickly moved from the rear seat and up to the front, sitting next to Jost with a sigh.

"Are you alright?" she asked him.

"It was different," Jost replied. "War finally came to us."

"And we won," Daisy responded, leaning back in her seat.

"The races, the Thunderdome," Jost mumbled. "You always think battle is going to be like those. This was very….different."

Daisy continued to lean back, staring through the windshield.

"You disagree?" Jost asked, looking back at his wife.

"Not really," Daisy replied, still staring outside. "Just never thought about it. It's the world."

Jost leaned back in his chair and sighed, his wife's words swirling around in his head. He directed his gaze outside the rig. In front of him was another car but he could see above it. The stars were out tonight, glittering lights that were usually obscured by the thick smog and bright burning lights of Gastown whenever he looked up at them.

"Guess it doesn't matter," Jost said, finally breaking the silence that had descended over the cabin. "Tomorrow we're ending it. Jeet dies."

"Tomorrow we crack open a tower," Daisy continued.

Jost turned to see his wife sporting a sick grin and he smirked in response. He loved it when she was like this. She rarely let anticipation like this show, only the matches got this reaction out of her easily.

"I can't wait either," Jost finished, reaching over and stroking Daisy's hair. She leaned into him, the grin shrinking to a smirk, allowing Jost to move his arm down to her opposite shoulder.

The two of them sat in silence again, thinking of the day that was coming for them. This was war, their first real fight and they had already won. With the Citadel and Bullet Farm they had dug the knife into the Wastelanders, now they just had to twist it before they pulled it out. The Triumvirate still ruled the Wasteland, even if the men that had built it were dead.

Jost looked back up at the stars as Daisy's head settled in the hollow of his neck. Despite the light of the cars and braziers the lights above them still shone bright and Jost thought that they looked like cinders.

* * *

The assault on Jeet's stronghold began before first light. Leaving their cars, warboys went forward under the cover of the low light and staged an attack on the gate.

Jeet's stronghold was perched on a rocky promontory, separated from the road to its entrance and with a sheer drop on the other side. There was only one way in but it was also the only way out.

Crossbowmen and gunners walked up to the ramp in front of the gate and began firing up at the wary guards. Shots were exchanged as other warboys ran up with the thunder-sticks and threw them at the hinges of the drawbridge. Triumvirate snipers on a ridge closer to the stronghold picked off other defenders before they could return fire on the attacking force.

Bullet Farm war-rockets were shot at the drawbridge, trying to damage the hinges and chains that held it up. The Gastown scrapulance was rolled up to the warboy party, filled with ammunition that the warboys enthusiastically gathered to fuel their assault.

Despite being heavily outnumbered and out-gunned, Jeet's warriors continued to fight back. Crossbow bolts and grenades were thrown at the War Boys with reckless abandon. Many warboys were sent screaming to Valhalla as Jeet's men emptied their arsenal.

As the burning midday sun began to rise hours later the warboys pulled back, dragging the wounded that could be treated with them.

Jeet's stronghold still held but the gate was damaged and the walls were scarred by burns and smaller rents. On the ledge in front of the gate were several dozen broken bodies, the warboys who had acquitted themselves in fire and glory. On the ledge by the camp were dozens of other warriors, agitating and egging the assaulters on and waiting for their chance to attack the gate.

* * *

"They don't look like they'll be able to last much longer," Jost said as he peered through his binoculars at the tower. By his side was Daisy who was huddled under the shadow of her parasol and fanning herself as she stared at the fortress in the distance.

Furiosa and Big Stack were on his other side, peering through their own binoculars and long-lookers at their target.

"We can probably crack it open before nightfall," Big Stack commented.

"Those hinges won't last much longer," Furiosa commented. "We don't have any claw trucks though. We'll have to use grappels instead."

"We'll have to soften up the defenders first," Furiosa commented, Big Stack grunting in agreement.

Jost lowered his binoculars and turned to look back at the War Party. The warboys were all visibly straining against the rude discipline that they had been trained with. Despite Furiosa's orders they were all waiting for the chance to charge the enemy.

"Get the chains," the Imperator shouted to her men. "I want bolt-throwers and barbs up top. We're tearing this gate down."

The entire camp erupted in roars of anger and excitement. Warboys ran back and forth as they grabbed their equipment. Cars with larger crossbows and compressed bolt-throwers were revved up and explosives were piled up in other vehicles.

The men who had survived the last assault were quickly thrown onto the camp's guard detail with little complaint. Meanwhile, the rest of the War Party prepared for what would likely be the final assault. Even the less suicidal goons were swept up in the violent energy that had now overtaken the entire fighting force.

Jost watched as the chosen vehicles started to file out of the camp, speeding up the moment they had cleared the perimeter. The Doofwagon started up its latest warsong as it too moved to follow the armed convoy.

Jost watched as Big Stack also left their position and moved in the direction of the tank that she had driven to battle the previous day.

"I hope we get to see whether that monstrosity can actually shoot something," Jost said offhandedly to Daisy who had come to his side.

"I doubt it," Daisy replied, taking the binoculars from his hands and peering through them. "The last Bullet Farmer hated even talking about using that thing's ammunition. I doubt that woman would ever dare do it either."

"Doesn't matter either way," Jost continued. "The tower's not going to last much longer anyway."

Jost grinned as he watched the front of the War Party rush across the killing field and ride up to the bridge.

* * *

The final assault on the lighthouse began as quickly as the last one had ended. Jeet's tired men struggled to get into position as the largest group of vehicles that had yet attacked them sped forward.

Several trucks sped forward, metal plates strapped to the front to deflect bullets and bolts sent at them by the defenders. Warboys, goons and lead-reapers returned fire with their own weapons. Snipers in the distance picked off the lighthouse's defenders whenever they exposed themselves, clearing the way for the three foremost trucks in the attacking party.

Lead-reapers opened a wave of suppressive fire on the walls, keeping the defenders from attacking the trucks as they were backed up.

One of the vehicles parked itself and a warboy climbed atop it as his comrades kept the defender's attention. Manning the large bolt-thrower attached to the back of the truck, he swivelled the weapon around to the gates. Another car equipped with a similar weapon moved next to it and one of the men crewing it took up position.

Both of them aimed their weapons at the top of the damaged drawbridge. An imperator, one of the new officers chosen by Furiosa stood in front of both vehicles, raising a fist. Both warboys waited for the signal from the imperator. When his fist was thrust down both of them squeezed the triggers of their weapons and fired large high-pressured bolts that embedded their barbed tips into the sheet metal of the drawbridge.

Chains attached to the bolts were pulled taut as other warboys scrambled to hook the other ends to the trucks.

Engines were gunned and revved and the trucks shot forward, the chains going tight as the gate tried to resist them. A loud groan came from the lighthouse as the damaged hinges struggled to remain intact and the chains strained against the resistance.

Wrecked hinges squealed in protest as the chains pulled at the drawbridge. The trucks were inching forward as the restraints holding the drawbridge up slowly began to give. Then, suddenly and with a loud crashing snap, the drawbridge slammed down. The trucks shot forward and braked just in time to stop the drawbridge from being completely ripped off of its hinges.

There was a second of silence as both sides registered the breach in the tower's defences and then a roar of victory emanated from the Triumvirate forces.

Furiosa watched, her usual indifferent expression fixed to her face. This was what she was used to, what she had been raised to do. By this point the Triumvirate's victory was assured. There were barely any defenders left manning the walls and with its defences penetrated the tower would fall in minutes.

"Move," a voice shouted. Furiosa turned to see Big Stack's tank rolling forward, commanding every other vehicle in its way to move aside. "Make way," the tinted voice of the Bullet Farmer shouted through the sound-system attached to the machine.

The tank came to the fore of the War Party, picking up speed as it moved closer to the gate. Furiosa wondered for a moment whether or not the bridge would be able to support such a massive and heavy machine. Her question was answered when the enormous vehicle shot forward, faster than before and rumbled over the bridge, crashed through barricades that the defenders had set up before and came to a halt in the middle of a large central compound.

"Forward," Furiosa ordered, eliciting a loud cheer from the warboys as they charged forward, followed by equally excited lead-reapers.

Furiosa climbed back into the Gigahorse and revved the engines, egging the warboys on with the sound of the powerful engine. She didn't intend to drive. Her injuries were still acting up and she didn't want to put either of the girls in danger. The courtyard of the tower was also filling up with vehicles. Not only would the Gigahorse not fit in the enclosed space but it would be left vulnerable as well.

Furiosa watched as warboys ran along the tops of the wall. There were sounds of gunfire and minor explosions, probably from thundersticks and grenades but they were dying out as the defenders were killed or captured.

Minutes passed by as Furiosa sat back and eyed the gateway. Capable and Cheedo had clambered into the seat next to her and were anxiously watching the walls or trying to peer through the crowded gateway. Warboys and others soldiers were still moving in and out of the gate but many of them were now more relaxed jeering and celebrating their victory.

Finally a lead-reaper peered out of the top of the gateway and looked down over the rest of the War Party.

"Victory!" he crowed, eliciting another cheer from the rest of the War Party.

"It's over," she heard Cheedo whisper. Furiosa turned to see both girls looked slightly relieved at the sound of the battle's end.

Furiosa gave a small smile but she didn't dare say anything to the girls. The fighting was over but there was so much left to deal with. Now she had to corral the warboys, divide the spoils, deal with the prisoners and argue over what would be done with Jeet and his dominion.

* * *

Cheedo cautiously walked through the camp as she searched for the wounded tent. It had been several hours since the battle had ended and she had finally decided to find something else to do.

Furiosa had immediately taken the other leaders aside to negotiate the division of the spoils that had been won. Whatever discussion there had been had quickly devolved into arguing and shouting and it had been at that point that she had decided to make herself scarce.

One the other side of the camp, away from most of the cars was a collection of tents and bundles that had been set up to house the wounded. War boys did not exactly tolerate weakness but they still acknowledged that their bodies needed tending too whenever they were hurt or failing physically. Few war boys went out of their way to save themselves in battle, ensuring there were very few wounded from the Citadel's War Party but there were plenty of goons and lead-reapers to help keep the Organic Mechanic busy.

Cheedo saw the Organic Mechanic that had accompanied the War Party was making her rounds. She was a thin, ancient looking woman with heavier wrinkles than any full-life Cheedo had ever seen, a snaggle toothed smirk that never seemed to disappear from her gaunt face and a foul attitude that put off any who approached her. She looked less like a human being and more like someone had stretched a man-leather tarp over a skeleton but she still moved quickly as she went back and forth between the wounded. Apparently she was the Bullet Farmers' Organic and had a disturbing fascination with bodies and the limits they could withstand.

Taking a deep breathe, she walked over to the area where the most heavily wounded were and approached the Organic Mechanic.

"Whaddya want?" the old woman barked, not turning to look at Cheedo.

Cheedo paused, a hesitant look on her face as she finally confronted her objective. A troubled frown appeared on her face and she tried to think about what she wanted to say.

"I want to help," she finally said.

"You got any experience in this?" the Organic Mechanic asked, finally turning around and fixing Cheedo with a withering glare.

"Uh, no,' she admitted slowly. The Organic Mechanic fixed her with an even sourer look.

"Then slag off," the older woman snapped at her. "I don't need any little girls hangin' around gettin' in my way."

"I want to help," Cheedo blurted out as quickly as possible before she could take back what she had said.

The Organic Mechanic rounded back on her and glared. "Alright breeder," she sneered, "You want to help? Then put help hold this boy down." She pointed at a War Boy who was lying on a sheet metal panel with a large hole in his leg. The wound looked somehow recent and he was groaning in pain.

Cheedo paused, unnerved as she looked at the ruined flesh. The blood was mostly dried but the wound was untended. She cringed as she stared at the gaping hole and then looked at the War Boy. He was young, very young and the look on his face told her how much pain he was in.

"Well don't just stand there," the Organic Mechanic snapped. Cheedo saw another young men dressed in lead-reaper gear scurry over to the boy's side and grab his legs.

Cheedo ran to the other side of the panel and grabbed his arms. The War Boy was already shouting from the sudden roughness of the lead-reaper who had straightened his legs. She could see tears in his eyes from what was likely to be horrible pain.

The Organic Mechanic then stepped forward, a long metal spike with a blunted tip in her hand. The tip was red hot and the Organic Mechanic held it in a large bundle of cloth.

"Hold him steady," the older woman said with a leer as she held the metal brand close.

Cheedo tensed, putting pressure down on the War Boy's arms as she cringed at the brand and the implications that it made to her. The Organic Mechanic then stuck it into the War Boy's wound. The unfortunate young man, screamed and writhed as puffs of smoke and an unsettling sizzling noise came from the tear in his flesh. The Organic Mechanic licked her lips as she twisted the brand, letting more of the heated metal touch ruined flesh. Cheedo felt sick as she saw the old woman stare at the War Boy's burning wound with a disgusting fascination.

Cheedo struggled against the War Boy's movements, putting her entire weight and strength into keeping him from lashing out. The War Boy fought against her with all his might as his screams grew louder.

"Shame about this one," the Organic Mechanic said casually as she pulled the poker out of flesh that was now slightly burnt. "Had to do my rounds before I was able to get to this one. I might have been a little late."

Cheedo began to pull back only for the Organic Mechanic to glare at her. "Keep him down," she snapped, causing Cheedo to push on the War Boy's arms again. "Gotta knock him out first."

Cheedo stayed where she was, looking at the War Boy, who was now sobbing slightly and getting jeered at by the men around him. Despite her dislike for the wretched creatures who sought nothing but death, both for their enemies and themselves, she couldn't help but pity him. The expressions of terrible pain that he made were only replaced, for short instances, by looks of deep shame. She realised he hated himself for being what he currently was, weak and in need of recovery.

The Organic Mechanic returned with a large, heavy bottle and a cloth she kept over the top of it. She tipped the bottle, keeping the cloth over it to keep it from leaking and then took the cloth away. Pressing the damp rag to the War Boy's face, she held it until his eyes rolled back and he slumped onto the panel he lay on.

"Do you still want to help?" the Organic Mechanic suddenly asked her, giving her the same smirk she had made when she first saw her. Cheedo, her stomach churning at what she had just seen, steeled herself and nodded.

"Alright then," the older woman said, "walk around the camp and tell me if it looks like anythin's wrong." With that she turned from Cheedo and wandered back through the tents where more wounded waited.

Cheedo stood where she was, slightly lost. She wasn't sure what she was now supposed to do or how to tell if something was wrong. Still, she had decided that this is what she was going to do. She planned to help someway and had told herself she was here to help others. An unsure expression on her face, she set off into the wounded quarter of the camp and began to look every damaged body she saw up and down.

* * *

"And I say we finish the last of 'em off!" Big Stack shouted at Furiosa.

"We've already won here. Gutgash's men aren't going to recover from this. There's no need to stay out here any longer than we already have." Furiosa responded, an iron-hard glare on her face.

Jost sighed as he lounged back on the bonnet of his rig. The argument had been going on for well over an hour now, stopping and starting as each leader agreed on something and then found a detail they didn't like and reignited the whole issue.

"Jeet was beaten and beyond recovery last time we did anything to him," Big Stack shot back. "Now look at what we got pulled into. If we're going to make sure we never have to come this far south again we've got to clear this land."

"There are still working guzz deposits," Jost finally said. "I've said this before but this land is actually valuable. This place has got guzz, it's got sulphur and that tower's even got a working coal mine." He sat up as he finally looked both women in the eye. "It'd be worth investing in it."

"We also won't have to keep coming down here every few thousand days to clear it of scum," Big Stack added, looking rather smug that she was, once again getting support against Furiosa. "And if we're continuing this war then we're going to need aqua-cola, that means the Citadel is going to have to stick with us."

"And what if the Citadel doesn't want to stick with you on this?" Furiosa said in a flat, grim tone, crossing her arms.

"You're really threatening us with abandonment?" Jost said, a hint of his genuine surprise in his voice. All members of the Triumvirate were dependent on one another and the threat of non-committal was not made lightly.

"I don't see a need of crushing this entire area," Furiosa replied, turning towards him. "Barely anyone lives here and most of those who did were in that tower or that War Party. It'll take them thousands of days for the survivors to recover, if they ever do at all."

"And you would rather come back here in those several thousand days?" Big Stack asked. "Finish the last of them off now and we never have to come back here. Past that tower is nothing but salt and wrecks. If we root the last of these wretches out now there'll be no chance of any trouble growing in this land at all."

"I'd have to agree." Jost said. "I'd be a lot happier knowing this area is clean and ready for work."

"If we get rid of all of the warbands we won't have to worry about fighting down here again will we?" a new voice suddenly asked.

All three of them turned to see the red-haired woman from the Citadel had finally decided to add herself to the discussion. She looked a little worried when Jost and Big Stack both looked at her but she quickly recovered and put on a look of strength and determination.

"That should be right," Jost finally said, providing the best answer or the girl's question. "The warlords here won't be strong enough to ever recover if we wipe out their strongholds."

"There's only one left anyway," Big Stack finally said. "Gutgash's the last of them once we're done with that smeg." She aggressively thrust a thumb at Jeet who was hanging from a tow truck, wrapped in chains and horribly beaten.

"What's our supply situation?" Furiosa finally asked after a lengthy pause. Her formerly blank expression had now taken on a hint of distaste but she hid it well.

"Daisy's been taking a count," Jost said. His wife hadn't been present for the discussion, which was very unlike her. She had instead insisted on taking stock of their supplies. "Last she told we we've got enough essentials for at least another three days of war. She's still going over the numbers again to make sure."

"That's more than enough to finish off Gutgash," Big Stack said with confidence. She levelled an expectant look at Furiosa, waiting to see what she would say.

Furiosa glared back, looking the much larger woman in the eye. She then let out a small breath as she pulled her shoulders back.

"Very well," she finally conceded. "We take out Gutgash. I leave this land to you once we're done there though. Don't expect me to spill any more blood over this waste than I need to."

"Excellent," Jost said, his business smile returning to his face. He saw Big Stack nod in satisfaction.

Their business done the three leaders split up and went back to their respective vehicles. They agreed to wait until the morning to pack up the camp and head west to the hollowed out wreck where Gutgash and his follower's had made their stronghold. Once they were here they would break open its hull and finally scour the Southern Wasteland of these lesser warbands.


End file.
